As Thick as Blood
by Lisse
Summary: Two decades after the defeat of Voldemort, Rory Malfoy and Jim ChangPotter begin to uncover a past their parents want buried forever and learn that sometimes friendship is stronger than blood. [on hold]
1. A Slip of the Tongue

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is the property of J.K. Rowling. The Musketeers belong to themselves. This story was written for fun, not profit. 

Author's Note: Thanks to my beta-reader Haggridd for awesome help with Dobbyspeak. If anyone actually _wants_ updates on this thing, I send out notices from a Yahoo group: 

**As Thick As Blood**   
**Chapter One: A Slip of the Tongue**

Rory Malfoy remembered her father as a slight, sad-eyed man who nevertheless commanded attention whenever he chose. Her mother, as she had repeatedly been told, had been a woman with no qualms about taking her fiancé's money and leaving him to raise an infant alone. She didn't consider those two figures parents so much as symbols, since neither one had played much part in her life. One had fallen victim to an Unforgivable Curse – revenge for his part in You-Know-Who's downfall – while the other had simply vanished into the murky underworld, never to be seen again. Her grandparents had raised her from the age of two, and were the only guardians she had ever known, even if she did hate their guts. 

She grew to be the embodiment of her father's family in every physical sense: white-blond hair, delicate features, a slender build, pale skin, and cool gray eyes. Her tutors pronounced her gifted in basic magical skills, especially in matters like defense and countercurses, and declared that she had a singular talent for inventing elaborate plots, particularly when dodging homework was involved. She was quick to come up with questions her grandparents didn't want answered, and quicker to deduce answers to questions no one else had thought of asking. It was her mother's influence, her two guardians muttered when they thought she couldn't hear. Bad blood. But blood was surely not the be-all and end-all in this strangest of granddaughters. She knew better than to ask an unpleasant question twice. While she clearly didn't love Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, she at least treated them with slightly more than basic civility. 

Her real problem only became apparent when she was invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and first put the enormous Sorting Hat on her head. 

"Hm," it said in her ear, its voice contemplative. "You're a bit of a jumble, aren't you? The cunning's there, but oh my, so is a great deal of intelligence. You're a quick-witted one. Ravenclaw or Slytherin? Either one would suit you nicely." 

Eleven-year-old Rory clenched her hands in her lap, squeezed her eyes shut, and desperately thought, _Don't make me like my grandparents._

This apparently came as a surprise to the hat. "Didn't see _that_ there," it said softly, almost to itself. "Don't know how I missed it. Very important part of you." And then, louder, "You're sure about this?" 

_I'm sure._

"All right, then. Off you go to GRYFFINDOR!" 

Her new house cheered as she staggered to her seat. No one else so much as clapped. They were too busy gaping. 

Only later did she learn that no one in her father's family had ever been Sorted into any House except Slytherin, much less into hated Gryffindor. Whatever else her mother had done, she had passed something special to her abandoned daughter that made her different indeed from her Malfoy ancestors – not in most ways, but in some tiny, unknown piece of her that the hat had almost missed. 

Rory felt at home among her housemates in a way that she never had with her grandparents, and before she knew it, she was an integral participant in the daily war with the Slytherins. The now famous Potions Incident and the Impolite Snake were both her brainchildren and quickly became legend among the younger Gryffindors. She formed close friendships with her fellow students, especially shameless prankster Maureen Wood, brilliant bookworm Brian Weasley, and a very kind boy named Jim Chang-Potter, who was incredibly good at delicate spells when he set his mind to it. 

By the time they were second-years, everyone had taken to calling the inseparable quartet the Four Musketeers. There was much rejoicing on the day they realized that old Argus Filch had an entire file drawer devoted exclusively to them, a feat previously managed only by Brian's twin uncles. It wasn't that the Musketeers were bad students – on the contrary, Brian was well on his way to becoming Head Boy and Rory herself was a prefect – but they had a tendency to view rules as something that happened to other people and to aggravate certain professors almost to the point of violence. 

None of this sat well with Rory's grandparents, of course. The idea that their only heiress was blatantly behind any number of stunts was repugnant to them and they attempted to hammer some sense into her every summer. She was a disgrace to her father's memory, they pointed out. She was already consorting with a halfblood and a Weasley and a _Potter_, for Merlin's sake, with who knew what just around the corner. She was going to turn out like her mother, and everyone knew how _that_ woman had come to a sticky end. 

It took her five summers of this grief to realize that her grandparents had unwittingly given away a precious bit of information. 

"You know what happened to my mother?" she asked one August evening over supper, interrupting the latest variation of this diatribe. 

Her grandparents exchanged looks, as if unsure of what to do about her newest question. 

"How should I know?" her grandfather said finally, sounding more than a little irritated. "It's not my job to keep an eye on people like that." 

"She abandoned you," her grandmother added. "It would be for the best if you just forgot about her." 

That was when Rory understood that, in one way or another, she was being lied to. 

She excused herself from the table as quickly as courtesy allowed and hurried up the winding stairs to her bedroom, which was off in its own corner of Malfoy Manor and not likely to be disturbed. Only when she was inside this questionable sanctuary and had the heavy door securely locked did she allow herself to sink to the cold stone floor, trying to make some sense of what she had heard. 

_They lied_. That much was obvious, since they couldn't know about a sticky end and still be completely unaware of her mother's whereabouts. Maybe they had just made up the first part to scare her away from her friends. They were the type of people who would do things like that. Maybe that was all this was and she was just overreacting. 

In her heart she knew that wasn't true. Her grandparents knew something about her mother – had known it for at least as long as she had been friends with the other Musketeers – and yet they had purposely misled her. 

_Maybe she was a Muggle._ The thought was certainly entertaining, but highly unlikely. _They would have drowned me if I were a halfblood, she decided with a bitter smile. Can't go polluting the family blood, now can I?_

She made her way over to her desk and stared at the small mountain of homework she still had to do. Hidden under the notes for that most boring of subjects, History of Magic, were letters from her friends, carefully snuck in with the help of Icarus, her fluffy brown owl. She hadn't been able to answer them as often as she liked. Sometimes hearing about the activities her three friends did together made her more than a little jealous, but she was glad for the contact. It reminded her why she put up with her snobbish, stupid, shortsighted, _deceitful_ grandparents all summer. 

After a moment's thought she pulled out a blank sheet of parchment and dipped her quill in ink. It took less than a moment for Rory to decide to whom she wanted to vent. 

_Dear Jim, _

I know you're probably busy with the Ministry internship, but I really need to talk to someone and the house-elves aren't the best of conversationalists. I think my grandparents lied to me about my mother. They said something about her coming to a sticky end and then when I asked them about it they said they didn't know where she was. I 'm in the mood to drop some Veritaserum in their wine. I would too, but I don't know how to make it. 

You're lucky. I know it's not easy putting up with all the reporters, but at least no one looks at you as if they expec you to sprout another head. The next time Brian complains about his family, I'm going to hit him. Probably with Reen's broom. I'm assuming that she told you about it. We'll have to gag her just to shut her up. She's talking about being captain of the Quidditch team this year, but she would lose interest in five minutes. I'm afraid you're stuck with Anderson for the moment. 

Thank you for the Chocolate Frogs, by the way. I don't know if your little brother is still collecting the cards, but I got one of your father and I heard that he's quite collectable. 

I'll see you in a week. 

Your friend,   
Rory 

She felt a little silly after she had written all that. Her grandparents withholding information about her mother sounded like something out of the _Daily Prophet_'s gossip columns. Only they really had been lying about something. She knew that much. And Jim was an even closer friend than the other two Musketeers. As much as she cared for Brian and Maureen, she didn't need the one carefully analyzing things and the other showing up to beat the truth out. 

Icarus came at her soft call. Rory folded up the letter and tied it to his leg, giving the patient owl her sternest look as she did so. "Jim Chang-Potter," she ordered. "Not Harry, not Cho, not Cedric, not Lily. Just _Jim_. Don't look at me like that," she added when Icarus hooted irritably. "You have a history." She waved her quill at the owl as she wiped off the extra ink. "I can understand messing up with the Weasleys, but it's not as if Jim's family is that hard to miss." 

Icarus hooted and took off in a snit. 

_Stupid bird_. Rory closed the filmy curtains – enchanted spiderlace, easily worth a hundred Galleons – and changed into the knee-length Chudley Cannons tee shirt Brian had given her for her last birthday. Her hair went up into a tangled bun as usual. A glance at her clock told her it really wasn't late enough for her to be in bed, but she didn't feel like venturing downstairs to the family room and listening to her grandparents again. Family time with the Malfoys was a bit of a joke – and a most unfunny one at that. 

_Family._

She sat on the edge of her enormous bed and tugged two photographs out from under one of the pillows. One was of the Musketeers last spring after Jim, Maureen, and the rest of the Gryffindor team had beaten the odds and won the Quidditch Cup. The other was much older and, in its own way, far more precious. It was the only picture of her father she had been able to get her hands on, and then only because one of the house-elves had found it while cleaning the library. She supposed it must have been taken not long before he died, because the little blond girl he was holding couldn't have been much younger than two. 

"Aurora Malfoy shouldn't be having those pictures," someone said at her shoulder. 

She didn't even turn around. "It's Rory," she corrected, just as she had every day for as long as she could remember. "And you're the one who got me these pictures, Dobby." 

The house-elf looked at her with eyes as large as saucer-plates. He had been a sort of ally before she had come to Hogwarts and met the other Musketeers, probably because he wasn't like any of the Malfoy family's other servants. Dobby wore a sock with his pillowcase – he had found it, supposedly – and seemed able to defy her grandparents. He was the one who had helped her hide the picture after he had given it to her and sometimes he was the one who hid her letters when it seemed that her grandmother would find them. 

"Aurora Malfoy is missing her friends," he said finally. 

"Aurora Malfoy wants to drop a hippogriff on her grandfather," Rory pointed out irritably. 

"Can Aurora Malfoy be lifting a hippogriff?" Dobby asked dubiously. 

"I can dream." Rory flopped back onto her coverlet and stared up at the bed's green canopy. She hated that color. "Dobby? Where did you find this picture again?" 

"Dobby found the picture on the black bookcase in the library, Miss." 

"What was up there before?" 

The house-elf hung his head. "Dobby does not know, Miss." 

"Damn." Rory rolled over and looked at the picture again. Her two-year-old self was waving wildly at the camera, completely oblivious to the fact that she was supposed to be dignified and proper. Her father wasn't bothering to restrain her, apparently content to hold her and give her a tiny smile. Although the family resemblance was obvious, the two of them looked completely different from the serious portraits hanging in the hallways. They might as well not have been Malfoys at all. 

She squinted and scanned the picture again. There was no sign of any unusual feature in her two-year-old self's slightly pudgy face – nothing to indicate what her mother might have looked like. 

"You is looking for something?" Dobby inquired. 

"My mother. I want to know what she looked like." 

Dobby tilted his head to one side. "Aurora Malfoy does not know?" 

"No. She has no idea." She stuck both pictures back under her pillow. She gave the house-elf a long look and wondered, not for the first time, if he knew more than he was letting on. "Is there anything you want to add?" 

"Dobby was not seeing Aurora Malfoy's mother. Dobby is telling you and telling you, but you is always asking." 

"I know, I know." Rory sighed and rolled over, further snarling her hopeless hair. "Remind me to get you another sock one of these days." 

Dobby's eyes went even wider. "If you is giving Dobby a sock – " 

"Then Dobby is free and Dobby doesn't want that because Dobby's a bit thick." Rory smiled to take the sting out of her words. Maybe her grandparents didn't care how house-elves were treated, but she had been very careful not to be her grandparents. She had the suspicion that that single goal was the only reason why she hadn't been Sorted into Ravenclaw – or worse, Slytherin. "Fine. I'll just drop it on the floor and you can pick it up. How does that sound?" 

"That is sounding good to Dobby, Miss." 

She patted Dobby on his skinny little arm. "Shoo. Get some sleep." 

The house-elf hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching her face as if looking for an answer there. 

"Is something bothering you?" she asked around a yawn. 

"Aurora Malfoy is...is looking for her mother in the wrong place." 

Rory knew when to take a leaf from Maureen's book. Her hand darted out and grabbed Dobby's pillowcase quick enough to make any Seeker proud. One of the only useful things she had inherited from her grandfather was the ability to stare down a wall when she really wanted to. That was the look she fixed on her face now: the one that announced to the world that she was a Malfoy, and that she was entitled to whatever she damn well wanted. "_What?_" 

"Aurora Malfoy is looking in the wrong place!" Dobby repeated anxiously. "Dobby cannot be telling more! Dobby promised!" 

"You promised my grandparents not to tell me?" Rory drew the house-elf forward until he was an inch from her face. 

"No!" he squeaked miserably. "Dobby was promising to your father!" 

"My _father?_ Dobby – " 

But the house-elf had vanished. The only thing she was clutching was empty air. 

Rory forced her hand to uncurl. _My father? Why would my_ father _do something like that?_ She shook the thought away. _Grandfather probably made Dobby tell me that._

She wished she hadn't sent that letter to Jim. Better yet, she wished she had kept her mouth shut at supper. Life would have been so much simpler then. Or not. Nothing the Malfoy family did was ever simple. They were schemers and plotters. 

_And liars,_ she added firmly. _Always liars._

As always, that was the heart of her problem. Her grandparents – particularly her grandfather – were about as trustworthy as the less reputable demons. From the gossip Rory had heard from Brian and his various cousins, there had been all sorts of rumors about Malfoy involvement in the Dark Arts back when their parents were students at Hogwarts. She didn't really think her grandfather actually had the guts to be quite that brazen, but she wouldn't put it past him to do something just as stupid and dishonest if he thought it would get him a little more power. 

_Rory Malfoy, she of the dysfunctional family._ Smiling at her humor, she tucked herself under the light coverlet and closed her eyes. She would try tracking down Dobby in the morning, and hopefully by then Jim would have sent back an idea or two with Icarus. Whatever her grandparents had been lying about – and whatever Dobby was hiding from her – could wait until the morning. 

Nonetheless, it was a long time before she finally drifted off to sleep. 


	2. The Children Who Argued

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Musketeers belong to themselves. Any other relevant disclaimers can be found at the end of the chapter. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to Haggridd, beta to end all betas. 

Chapter Two: 

The Children Who Argued 

~*~*~*~ 

Jim Chang-Potter didn't need to look up to know which owl had just flown over his head. Somehow the fact that it had just dropped a letter in his porridge gave it away. "Hello, Icarus." 

The owl landed on the windowsill and stuck his beak in the air. 

Normally Jim would have lobbed the nearest piece of silverware at his visitor, but since his parents took a rather dim view of throwing forks, he settled for retrieving the soggy letter from his breakfast and double-checking the name on the front. Yes, it was indeed addressed to him. Icarus occasionally confused the Potters, which meant that Lily and Cedric sometimes got Rory's letters. 

Then again, maybe this whole owl post thing was harder than it looked. All five Chang-Potters -- including Jim's mother, who was damn proud of her maiden name and clung to it come hell or high water -- had straight black hair and lean, generally trim builds. The three children shared green oval-shaped eyes, similar expressions, and a tendency to look before they leaped. Jim was a full head taller than anyone else in the family, but that probably didn't make much difference to Icarus. After all, the owl's world consisted entirely of the tops of people's heads. 

"Are you going to read it or just admire it?" Lily asked around a mouthful of porridge. 

Jim ignored his sister, who was fourteen and thus an automatic candidate for bratdom. But it was impossible to do the same with eleven-year-old Cedric. The boy's black, round-rimmed glasses made his knowing eyes look very big, especially when he focused his intent gaze on his older brother. Jim knew from long experience that his little brother wouldn't say a word. He would just stare and stare in that unnerving way of his. 

He bowed to the inevitable and read the letter. 

_Oh, hell._

"What's that?" his father asked as he made his way into the spacious kitchen. Trailing behind him was a briefcase, two objects that were probably Portkeys, and a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. The great Harry Potter never looked particularly intimidating, especially when he was idly attempting to flatten his unruly hair and summoning various files with his wand. 

Jim stuffed the letter into his pocket. "Just something from Rory." His father's eyes narrowed fractionally -- they always did when anyone mentioned a Malfoy -- so he quickly cast about for another subject. "Do you need me at the Ministry?" 

"Not unless the Creevey brothers try that enchanted milk stunt again." A piece of toast and a cup of tea joined the objects following his father doggedly through the kitchen. "I don't think you want to be around today anyway. Percy got Amos Diggory to support the Muggle Protection Act, so he'll be insufferable." 

Jim grinned. Percy Weasley was a perfectly nice man, not to mention well-connected, but sometimes he was a bit overenthusiastic. 

Lily wasn't quite as polite. "Dad, he's a stuffed shirt." 

A spoonful of sugar emptied itself into the cup of tea. Their father, who was frowning at Lily, didn't seem to notice. "Your mother and I would be locked up in Azkaban if not for Percy. Keep that in mind." 

"Kind of hard to do when I don't know _why_ -- " 

"Lily!" 

"Sorry." Not sounding the least bit apologetic, Lily returned her attention to her breakfast with poor grace. Jim fought the urge to kick her under the table; his sister knew some topics were off limits, but she kept bringing them up again and again. 

Their father raised his hand for a moment, almost as if he intended to touch his angry daughter on her shoulder. Then he seemed to think better of it. "Your mother already left," he said in a voice that sounded only slightly strained. "We'll be home for supper." He cleared his throat. "See you tonight, Lily." 

She didn't even grunt a reply. 

Their father sighed, waved goodbye, and Disapparated. The various objects trailing behind him vanished a moment later. 

"What's the matter with you?" Jim demanded, rounding on his sister so quickly that he nearly tipped over his juice. "Can't you keep your big mouth shut for five minutes? You know Dad doesn't like to talk about Azkaban." 

"I wasn't asking for details," Lily muttered. "Just something. It's hard to know why everyone's snapping pictures of you when you don't even know what your dad did." 

Unsurprisingly, Cedric grunted something that sounded vaguely sympathetic. Except for the slant to his eyes and slightly more controllable hair, he looked so much like their father that people always asked if he had the same lightning-shaped scar. 

Jim sighed. "Just wait it out, Lil. People will forget" 

His sister banged her spoon on the table. "Are you blind or just stupid? It's been more than twenty years and you know, I don't see anyone being any less scared. I'm the only one in this damn family who can even say Voldemort's name. He's dead, for crying out loud. Get over it." 

"Um, Lily?" Cedric said hesitantly. "Could you not say that?" 

Lily rolled her eyes. "Vol-de-Mort. Voldemort. Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort." 

Cedric cringed. Jim managed to hold back a wince, although it was a near thing. 

Lily nodded triumphantly at their actions. "See what I mean? None of us were even born when Dad defeated him and you two are still acting like babies. The only way to not be scared of something is to learn about it and stop hiding from it. Mom and Dad don't understand that." 

"Maybe they just don't want to talk about it," Jim said tightly. "Did that ever occur to you?" 

"Then they're just being selfish." 

"_They're_ being selfish? Have you looked in the mirror lately? The way you're acting now, I'm surprised you weren't Sorted into Slytherin!" 

As soon as he said those words Jim wished he could pull them back. The Sorting hat had almost put Lily into Slytherin. It would have done so if she hadn't argued and pleaded and threatened it for long, tense minutes. And that hadn't been the worst of it. Some _Prophet_ reporter had overheard her weeping into Jim's shoulder after the ceremony. That coupled with the fact that her extraordinary academic talent and the well-known fact that she was a Parselmouth had brought about more than a few articles suggesting that she was in fact the next Tom Marvolo Riddle. It had produced a scandal that had only ended when Cho Chang-Potter marched into the Daily Prophet's offices, tracked down the articles' author, and turned "that Skeeter woman" into an obnoxious pink parrot. 

Unsurprisingly, Jim's poorly chosen words drove Lily to her feet, her face white with shock. "How dare you?" she hissed. "How dare you say that!?" 

"Lil, I didn't mean – " 

But it was too late. Abandoning her breakfast, Lily turned on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen, no doubt vanishing up to her room as she was wont to do these days. 

And in the blackest corner of his mind Jim couldn't help but wonder if maybe those articles didn't have a grain of truth in them after all… 

_Come on_, he told himself firmly. _This is Lil_. With an effort he turned his attention back to Cedric and tried a weak grin. "More breakfast?" 

The younger boy just looked at him. "Did you know you're both stupid gits?" 

Jim lobbed a spoonful of porridge at him and did his level best to focus on the letter. _Rory says I'm lucky_, he thought with a tight grin. _I'd like to see her put up with Lil for an hour. The two of them would be fighting like mad skrewts in five minutes._

"What's Rory say?" Cedric asked eagerly as he ducked the glob of oatmeal. He had a not-so-hidden crush on the admittedly beautiful girl -- one Jim had managed not to tease him about only with the greatest of restraint. 

"She has a Frog card of Dad," he said absently, although his mind was hardly on that part of the letter. "And she wants to know if you want it." 

"Really?" Cedric asked eagerly. "I can't find one and Jeremy was showing me two the last time we visited him. Do you think you can get one for me?" 

Jim grinned. "Sure thing." He glanced at the mechanical clock -- a gift from his father's friend Arthur Weasley, who had a passion for anything Muggle. "Weren't you going to go look at brooms with Matt today?" 

His brother yelped and abandoned his half-eaten breakfast, grabbing his old Cleansweep Seven as he hurried out the back door. 

Jim clapped his hands twice and waited until the food and dishes had vanished before he spread the letter on the table. If he looked out the window he could see Cedric flying around outside, carefully keeping below the rooftops. The small village of Helga's Hill was populated entirely by magical families, but it still wasn't a good idea to give neighboring Muggle towns any funny ideas. At least Cedric obeyed the rules most of the time, which was more than Jim could say for himself or Lily. The two of them had necessitated quite a few Memory Charms when they were children. 

Now. What to do about Rory? The date on her letter said it had been written just last night, so she was probably still upset. Even if he didn't have much to say, the least he could do was calm her down. 

He held out his hand and called, "_Accio_ Parchment! Quill! Ink!" After a moment, the house's Summoning charms kicked in and the requested items came flying into view. 

It took a moment to scribble out a reply. As he blotted the ink and tried to prod Icarus awake, he double-checked to make sure he hadn't said anything more stupid than usual. 

_Rory, _

These are_ your grandparents we're talking about. They would probably sell their own mothers to a goblin mine if they thought they could get a good deal. Don't worry about it. I promise that if your mother's out there we'll find her. That's how these things work, right? _

Lily's being annoying again, so I'm not that lucky. I have to live with her. And my dad's really mad at her too. Maybe I'll find somewhere else to have supper, since I think she's trying to make a case for justifiable homicide. 

Maureen told me all about the new broom. I think beating her over the head might be the only way to shut her up. My dad gave Brian some fat books about Aurors or something. They're really heavy, so at least we can put a dent in her head if she gets too annoying. Or we can do another Snake in the Great Hall and blame it on her. Did you hear that Snape's still trying to figure out who did it last year? Brian's uncle Percy wouldn't shut up about it. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but I know he thinks it's really funny. 

And Cedric wants the card, by the way. You would think someone in our family would actually have one, but there you go. I'll see you in six days. 

Jim 

He folded up the letter and tackled Icarus long enough to tie it to the hooting, scratching owl's leg. A few tense moments and several lurid curses later, he was throwing the cranky bird out the window with a muttered "Good riddance." That took care of that. 

The Chang-Potter home was large, although not exactly spacious; aside from housing five people and various necessities like furniture, knickknacks and mementos had taken over every available surface. Photographs of cheerful friends and family covered the walls, vying for position with childish scribbles and the more choice _Prophet clippings_. Jim could have avoided his sister's room easily in this rambling abode, but he felt obliged to try to make some sort of peace. He really hadn't meant what he said about her and Slytherin. Not really. 

"Lil?" he called as he made his way up the stairs, dodging Cedric's Quidditch figurines and the occasional fake wand. There was no such thing as an empty surface in the Chang-Potter house. "Lil? Come on." 

His sister's door remained stubbornly shut. The posters on her door stirred to life as English Seeker Dylan Washington and the band Enchanted Crow sidled casually out of sight. 

Jim sighed. "I just want to talk." 

The door cracked open and Lily poked her head out. Her eyes were puffy and red, but she looked more furious than anything else. "Talk?" she echoed bitterly. "About me being the next Dark Lady?" 

"No. I…I didn't mean any of that." He thought about trying a smile, but decided against it. Lily didn't need jokes or self-mocking humor. "You're a wonderful sister." 

"And you're the world's biggest prat," she retorted. But the words were spoken without any real malice. After a moment, she sighed and swung the door open all the way. In her Quidditch tee shirt and frayed Muggle pants, with her hair loose around her shoulders and her face red from crying she would never admit to and certainly not allow anyone to see, she looked much younger than fourteen. "Damn. Why can't I stay mad at you?" 

"Because I'm your big brother," Jim said amiably. He widened his eyes and looked down at her with his best hurt-puppy look. "Right?" 

"Don't do that! You look like you swallowed a bubotuber!" 

Jim stopped. The last thing he wanted was to be compared to one of Professor Sprout's more noxious plants. "But I'm still your big brother." 

Lily blew out a long, put-upon sigh. "All right, all right. You're my big brother. Don't get sappy." She frowned suspiciously at him. "But don't expect me to tell Dad I'm sorry. He's being annoying and secretive." 

_One battle at a time_. Jim help up his hands in surrender. "I won't. Just promise not to kill anyone, okay?" 

"Git." 

"I love you too," Jim muttered sarcastically. 

The posters' occupants began to return -- very cautiously. 

~*~*~*~ 

Want to learn more about the Malfoys, the Chang-Potters, and the future of your favorite characters? Join the HP Bloodlines Yahoo!Group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hpbloodlines/. 


	3. A Crowded Platform

Part Three

Disclaimer: Rory Malfoy, Jim Potter, Lily Potter, Cedric Potter, and Brian Weasley are my creations and may be used with my permission. Everything _Harry Potter_ is the property of J.K. Rowling. This story was written solely for the purposes of entertainment.

A/N: Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers and my most excellent beta reader Haggridd. 

Part Three: A Crowded Platform

It took nearly a week for Icarus to return with Jim's answer, which only proved to an indignant Rory that her owl really did have a vindictive streak. The moment he touched down on her windowsill, she grabbed him by a foot and shoved him rather rudely into his cage. After quickly reading the letter – which was probably meant to be reassuring – she jammed it into her pocket and returned her attention to the butler carrying her trunk downstairs. It figured that her stupid owl would arrive on the day she was leaving for Hogwarts anyway. Someday she was going to pluck him.

When she came pelting down the stairs, her grandmother was waiting for her, a disapproving frown creasing her brow. Rory had managed to avoid speaking to her for the last couple of days, but unfortunately that was no longer possible. She could only stand still and try her best to look vaguely rebellious. Something was going to be wrong with her anyway, so she might as well start sulking before the gripe came.

"Aurora Thomasina Malfoy, what in the name of the Four Founders are you wearing?"

Ah. There it was.

Rory looked down at her outfit, which had been provided by Maureen's mother. The sleeveless pink top and the tough, slightly baggy blue pants were supposed to be relatively current in the Muggle world, although the sneakers were apparently a bit out of date. And she wasn't even going into the strange things she had been ordered to do with her hair.

She shrugged and did her best to look nonchalant. "Camouflage?"

Her grandmother – who looked rather strange in a waistless gray dress and a small, round hat – twisted her lip distastefully. "Follow me."

It was just as well that she turned away, since she missed the rather rude gesture Rory made at her retreating back.

The two walked to the front gates of Malfoy Manor, where what appeared to be a stretched-out Muggle automobile sat waiting. Rory knew that it was actually a magical construct, just like the chauffeur in the front seat; it would dissipate after a few hours and no one would be the wiser. For now, though, it would allow Rory and her grandparents to travel to King's Cross without receiving too many stares.

"Reen says that most Muggles don't have automobiles like this," she said as she opened the door. "It's only for really important people."

Her grandmother gave her a narrow-eyed look. "We _are_ important."

"Not to Muggles," she pointed out airily.

"Get in."

Rory rolled her eyes, but did as she was told. 

As usual, the interior of the automobile was a large study, complete with tapestries on the walls and a large bookshelf. Her grandfather, looking decidedly uncomfortable in a dark suit and tie, sat in a hard-backed chair and glowered at her from over the top of a large tome. She settled herself as far from him as possible, not wanting to actually speak to either grandparent more than was absolutely necessary.

"You look disgraceful," her grandfather said after a moment.

Rory shrugged and flipped through a random book from the shelf. _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. Figured. "Muggles don't go around wearing robes," she said slowly and carefully, as if explaining things to a small child. "And last I checked, we need to walk through their station before we get to the platform."

"Don't disrespect your grandfather," her grandmother snapped as she sat beside her husband. They both looked like someone had force-fed them Pepperup Potion. Considering how much they hated wearing anything Muggle, they were showing remarkable restraint.

Rory curled her legs up on the uncomfortable chair and stared down at her book, not really seeing the words. "I'm not being disrespectful," she said irritably. _Or deceitful, or snobbish, or anything else you two seem to value_.

Her grandparents exchanged a knowing look. "It's not her fault, Lucius," her grandmother murmured. "Bad blood."

Her grandfather merely grunted. He didn't seem to think blood of any kind justified her behavior.

"Rory, it's not that we're excusing you," her grandmother continued patiently. She probably thought she was being very reasonable. "You are who you are. We're just trying to steer you toward the correct path."

"So I don't meet a sticky end?" Rory bit out. 

"We're not discussing your mother," her grandfather said sharply. "She is none of your concern."

Rory wished she could have been surprised, but she wasn't. A callous remark like that was exactly what she expected from him. "Father didn't seem to think so." She gave them the Malfoy look, although she knew from experience that it had practically no effect on them. "Or is he none of my concern, too? After all, I already know what happened to him."

"Watch your mouth!" her grandfather snapped, half-rising from his seat as his pale, pinched face contorted with rage. Rory stopped short, her responses shriveling up on her tongue, and forced herself not to lean back from him. She had never seen him respond like that. Not once.

No. That wasn't true. There had been one time, when she was so young that her memory was more sensation than sight or sound, that she had actually heard Lucius Malfoy shout. And he had not been the only one there. Two other voices – one low and furious, one high and strong – had answered him with equal vehemence. She had been terrified then, although she could not have said why. Now some part of that memory sent the ridiculous idea through her that she should flee from her own grandfather.

Her hands curled into fists. "Only if you tell me the truth."

"Fool," her grandfather growled. "Ignorant, ungrateful, foul-blooded brat!"

"Lucius!" Her grandmother grabbed his arm and pulled him forcibly back into his seat, spots of red highlighting her cheeks. "Rory didn't choose her mother. I shudder to think of that woman's pedigree, but may I remind you that your heiress had no part in selecting her?"

Her grandfather's lips tightened into a thin line. "Narcissa…"

"Don't Narcissa me."

Rory tried to pay attention to the book. She would much rather read some crusty wizard's speculations about her family's involvement with You-Know-Who than listen to said family discuss whether or not she was tainted.

The trip to King's Cross seemed to take years.

By the time the limo stopped in front of the station and Rory had followed her grandparents to the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, she was ready to run up to the nearest Muggle and offer herself up for adoption. With a conscious effort she made herself tag along after the butlers, barely giving the barrier a second thought as she breezed through it.

And then stopped short, partly out of shock but mostly because there was nowhere to go.

The entire platform was jammed full of witches, wizards, students of all shapes and sizes, and more than a few bewildered Muggle parents carefully rereading various pieces of parchment. Quite a lot of the children crowded near the train were obviously first-years – and from the looks on their faces, most of them had probably never heard of Hogwarts before this summer.

"What _is_ this?" her grandmother demanded, apparently forgetting Rory's behavior in the face of this newest outrage.

"A busy platform," Rory said as she dodged what looked suspiciously like a group of dark-haired quadruplets. "Looks like there's a big class this year."

That was understating things, of course. There must have been at least a hundred small, terrified children anxiously trying to look grown up and mature. While Rory certainly didn't mind and Hogwarts had been getting a little empty, she was starting to wonder if she was going to get a seat. There was barely room for all these newcomers at the school itself, much less on the Express.

While her grandparents glowered in silent condescension, she slipped around the quadruplets and ducked behind a group of particularly tall seventh-years. The last thing she wanted was to listen to complaints about fouling the purity of wizard blood with Muggleborn students. It made her sick to her stomach, among other things.

She waved to Ife Adenuga and Emily Pankowitz, two of the other girls in her dorm, and to Hunter Thomas, an extremely handsome sixth-year who was trying to fend off a slightly obsessed Susanna Prewitt. The trick now was to dodge her grandparents until she got on the train…

"Rory!" A familiar boy waved from amidst a small clump of wizards and witches, all of whom were talking animatedly at a black-haired family. Rory had to grin. Even in this crowd the Potters attracted attention. She waded toward the gathering, leaving her grandparents to fend for themselves.

Jim was wearing tan pants and a plain tee shirt – both from Maureen's mother, no doubt. His hair had been not so much tamed as temporarily flattened and his eyes sparkled as he displayed an amiable grin. "About time. I was wondering when you were going to show up."

Rory stuck out her tongue. "I love you, too."

"She didn't mean that literally," Jim said quickly. A young wizard with an enormous Quick-Quotes Quill visibly wilted.

"I didn't know you still got crowds this big," Rory muttered as she gave some of the more obvious reporters a warning look. If her grandfather saw a front-page piece on some Potter-Malfoy romance, he would probably lock her in the manor for a year.

Jim had the grace to look embarrassed. "It's Cedric's first year," he explained. "That Skeeter woman actually wants him to pose with Paula, if you can believe it."

"She wouldn't."

"Oh yes she would." Jim crossed his arms and nodded to a particularly pushy woman with sparkling glasses. She had pinned down Jim's father and was peppering him with questions, her quill flying despite the fact that his only answers were vaguely bemused stammers. "She's the one who wrote all those horrible things about Lily."

"But posing Cedric with Paula…" Rory shook her head. Like everyone else in the magical world, she knew that Jim's little brother had been named after the first Hogwarts student murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after he had been returned to full strength. Paula Diggory was that poor boy's younger sister, born eight years after his death. She had never met him and, as far as Rory could tell, had never been allowed to learn about him.

Kind of like Rory and her mother, actually.

Further brooding was cut off by a loud _bang_. Jim's mother had raised her wand over her head and was using it to fend off "that Skeeter woman," as the entire Potter family seemed wont to call her. "No quotes," she barked. "No exclusive interviews, no photos, and no damn updates on the Sorting! Scram!"

"Or you'll be growing feathers again," Lily called gleefully.

"You can't expect to deny the public…" The reporter got a close look at the expression on Jim's mother's face and seemed to reconsider pushing the point. Instead she focused her attention on Rory. "Ah! This must be the future Mrs. James Potter! Quite a lovely young woman, too. Wouldn't you say, James?"

"We're just friends," Jim mumbled.

"Nonsense," Skeeter said with a wave of her beringed hand. "I'm sure you two will make a _lovely_ couple at the Yule Ball! A Potter and a Malfoy – so unusual! Care to tell us how you'll ask her?"

Jim turned a very interesting shade of crimson and covered his face with his hands.

Rory leapt to her friend's defense. "Is that your hair or did a griffin molt on your head?"

Some of the other reporters snickered and one particularly incautious one actually snorted.

Skeeter glowered at her. "Quite the little brat, aren't you?"

Rory narrowed her eyes. "_You're_ calling _me_ a brat?"

"It's in the family, girl. I could tell you things about your bloodline that would make you wish your father had never kissed your mother."

Jim's mother finally managed to extract Cedric from the grips of two more reporters. She waved her wand in Skeeter's direction and the enormous quill suddenly became a limp, rather smelly sock. She dropped it in disgust and kicked it toward the other reporters, who were too busy chortling to notice.

"You were just leaving," Jim's father said. "All of you." It was in a voice that was both calm and pleasant, but it was definitely not a suggestion.

The reporters began to drift reluctantly away, Skeeter muttering something about ungrateful, snobbish children as she left.

"I should have kept her as a parrot," Jim's mother muttered. She pocketed her wand and gave Rory a small smile. "Lovely idea, griffin molt."

"It's the truth." Rory grinned, a little unsure about what to say to the other four Potters. She knew Lily, of course, and she had met the rest of the family once or twice at various functions, but she always had the sneaking suspicion that Jim's mother, at least, expected her to turn into a bloodsucking monster at any moment. It wasn't like Brian's family, where she felt instantly at home. "Um, it's good to see you again, Mrs. Potter. Mr. Potter."

"Harry works just fine," Jim's father said amiably. Both of her friend's parents were perfectly nice to her, but Mr. Potter – er, Harry – seemed a lot more genuine about it. "Did you come here by yourself?"

"No. I lost my grandparents. Not that I mind," Rory added quickly. She had heard her grandfather complain about the Potters many times and gathered that the feeling was more than mutual.

Jim cleared his throat in the awkward silence. "Hey, Dad? Mom? Do you mind if we get on the train? I want to get seats before…" He waved his hand vaguely at the many first-years.

"Of course not," his mother said. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek – the latter accomplished by standing on her toes. "Keep your sister out of trouble," she added firmly. "And don't let Maureen give you any ideas."

Jim's father followed suit, up to and including offering advice, then actually shook Rory's hand. "I'll see you later, I assume."

Rory had nothing to say to that. She settled for a glassy grin.

Jim grabbed her arm. "Come on. I think I just saw Hunter and Sorcha." He waved one last goodbye, then started dragging her toward the train. After a few moments of pushing through crowds, he stopped and gave her one of those lopsided smiles. "Sorry. My mom's not in the best mood."

"You should see my grandfather," Rory said dryly. She nodded to the nearest car. "That's the one?"

"Yep. The one with the entire Hunter Thomas Fan Club crammed into one compartment."

Rory rolled her eyes. "Sorcha's probably ready to throw them out the window." She meant that literally. Sorcha Finnigan was Hunter's longtime girlfriend and tended to take a dim view of anyone else drooling on him.

Jim grinned. "Maybe we can help." He allowed her to lead him around a befuddled Muggle family. "You know, the way these cars are filling up, we might end up sitting in someone's lap."

"Oh?" She gave him a sidelong look. "Anyone's in particular?"

"Of course not." But the bright flush on his face gave him away. "What about you?"

"Hunter Thomas's," she said flatly.

Jim gaped at her.

"I'm _kidding_!" she said after a moment, when his bewildered look showed no signs of disappearing. Then, because she couldn't help herself, she added "Not that he doesn't have a nice lap…"

She ducked into the train car before Jim's swat could reach her.


	4. Weasley and Wood

Chapter Four: Weasley and Wood 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Musketeers belong to themselves. Any other relevant disclaimers can be found at the end of the chapter. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to my lovely reviewers and to my beta reader Haggridd (see? I _did_ use cobbing). 

Chapter Four: 

A Crowded Platform 

~*~*~*~ 

The entire Club Car on the Hogwarts Express was full of noisy upperclassmen, most of them complaining about the cramped quarters and all of them jabbering at the top of their lungs. Not surprisingly, what few Slytherins had deigned to emerged from their compartments were clustered off on their own, their lips curling in a sort of collective sneer. 

Not that anyone noticed. There was far too much to talk about. From what Jim could hear, the hottest topic was Ravenclaw's Quidditch team -- a most unfairly talented group of individuals that had kept the other houses' players on edge for half the summer. The other houses didn't have bad teams, but against the likes of Tasha Rivers, Patrick Gordon, Franziska Krum and the amazing Julia Watkins, they were pretty useless. 

"Hi, Rory! Hi, Jim!" Laura Henson, a freckle-faced Gryffindor with a pair of fashionable Muggle glasses, waved to them from a clump of Hufflepuffs. 

Her best friend Debbie Matthews flourished a rather handsome picture of Dylan Washington the Seeker an inch from Rory's face. "Look what they have in _Young Witch_!" she squealed. "I can't believe he's still single!" 

"He's also about ten years older than you," Maureen Wood said flatly as she poked her head out of a compartment. The Musketeer's straight brown hair was pulled into a very short ponytail near the top of her head, giving her rather angled face a severe look. "And anyway," she added as she made a grab for the offending picture, "you wouldn't like him much in real life. He's a complete prat." 

Debbie and Laura gave her skeptical looks. "How would you know?" Laura asked indignantly. "You've never met him." 

"My father plays Keeper for England," Maureen answered with exaggerated patience, holding the picture under Laura's nose. "Of course I've met him -- and I hope I never have to see him again." 

Debbie leaned over and snatched back her purloined picture, showing considerably more bravery than Jim himself would have exhibited under the circumstances. His family might have been good at beating power-mad wizards, but he was sure even his father and sister would back off in the face of Maureen's rants. Maybe the Hufflepuff sensed her danger, because she jabbed a finger in his direction and said, "Aren't those your friends, Maureen?" 

The decoy worked. Jim and Rory found themselves engulfed in a tight hug as Maureen went from furious to ecstatic in a heartbeat. "Oh my _god_! I can't believe I didn't notice you two on the platform! I haven't seen you all summer!" she scolded Rory -- not with any real malice, since everyone knew what the Malfoys were like. "And you!" she added, rounding on Jim. "Not writing to me for two weeks! How am I supposed to get free Cup tickets from Father if you won't cooperate?" 

"Our owls were busy," Jim said as he broke free of Maureen's chokehold. "Ministry stuff." 

"That's right." Rory elbowed him in the ribs. "Mr. Chang-Potter here was our big internship guy." 

Jim dodged the undeserved elbowing as best he could. "Could you not call me Mr. Chang-Potter? I got enough of it from that Skeeter woman." 

Maureen's face darkened. "_She's_ here? Did you see what she wrote about my mum?" 

Jim winced sympathetically, but Rory just shook her head. She wasn't much for keeping up on the news over the summer -- possibly because current events weren't a big part of her grandparents' daily lives. 

"That _woman_ wrote that my mum was thinning my dad's good Quidditch genes," Maureen was saying sourly. "She's not fit to lick any Muggle's boots, much less my mum's. One of these days I'm just going to…to…" 

"Drop a hippogriff on her?" Rory suggested. 

Maureen grinned faintly. "That sounds about right." She threw a sidelong glance at Debbie and Laura, who were busy gushing over Washington again. "Skeeter writes about that prat like he's some sort of god. He's just good at smiling for the camera. No talent and too many connections, that's what it is." 

"Like we're ones to talk," Jim pointed out mildly. Before either girl could comment on that, he latched onto a much better topic. "Where's Brian?" 

"In there." Maureen jerked a finger at one of the compartments. "With Tony and the Couple." 

"Wonderful," Rory said dryly. Hunter and Sorcha had been the Couple since they were first-years and showed no signs of breaking up anytime soon. 

Maureen linked elbows with Jim and Rory, no easy feat in the crowded confines. "Come on. Help me put up with public displays of affection." 

The three wended their way to the compartment, forcing their way through a few girls trying to catch a glimpse of Hunter. Maureen in particular seemed particularly disgusted by this and went out of her way to roll her eyes as she slid the door open. 

The inside of the compartment was miraculously spacious. Sorcha was perched on Hunter's lap and was looking up at him in a way that would probably produce a snide comment from Maureen in a few moments, while Antonio Rodriguez was losing to Brian in chess. They all looked up when the three came into the room, although Brian was the only one who stood up. "How did you get past that mob outside?" 

"Cobbing." Maureen plopped herself on Tony, doing her part to give everyone a seat. Jim was suddenly reminded of Rory's comment outside the train and found himself feeling strangely relieved that Hunter's lap was already occupied. 

Brian leaned over the chessboard to give Rory a quick hug. "I was worried when you didn't write." 

"Icarus wasn't cooperating," Rory said conversationally, while she gave Jim what could only be described as a warning look. He got the message. For whatever reason, she didn't want the other two Musketeers to know about what she had discovered. Although he neither understood her reasoning nor agreed with it, he would respect it. She would tell Brian and Maureen in her own time. 

Hunter grinned, probably causing the girls outside to swoon. "Are you still using that stupid owl? He tried to peck your eyes out last year, remember?" 

Rory gave him a sour look. "I'm trying to repress." 

"Oh. Sorry." 

Tony tapped the chessboard with a finger. "If you want to take your mind off of that owl, maybe you can give me a hand. I've got a Sickle on this game." 

"You bet against Brian?" Maureen rapped him on the temple. "Hello in there? Going a little heavy on the Wit-Dulling Potion, are we?" 

"Watch it or I won't be your chair anymore." Once Maureen had stopped heckling him -- only a momentary reprieve, no doubt -- Tony looked at Rory expectantly. "Well?" 

"Don't look at me," Rory said. "I'm not the one with Weasley genes." 

Tony made a sound that might have been a pleading whimper. "Come on. You're the only one who's ever beaten him." 

Rory puzzled over the chessboard for a moment. "Fine. Bishop takes rook. Check." She grinned at Brian, who suddenly didn't look very happy to see her. "Your turn," she said, ruffling his dark red curls in a big-sisterly sort of way. 

Brian made a face at her and moved a pawn. "Hey, Jim?" he said as he watched Tony contemplate his next move. "My dad was looking for your dad earlier. He's in a bit of a mood." 

Jim frowned. "A bit of a mood?" 

"Angry." Brian's brown eyes fell on the other three Musketeers. 

"Ah," Maureen said a moment later. "_Angry_." 

More than one aggravated professor had suggested that the four friends used telepathy to communicate, and in a way that was true. They knew each other's moods and expressions so well that even a glance could convey enormous amounts of information. Now, without words being expressed, Maureen, Rory, and Jim knew exactly what Brian meant. His father wasn't angry, because that would have been a perfectly normal occurrence and therefore nothing to fret over. Rather, he was furious enough to unsettle the normally unflappable Brian. And that meant it was time to start worrying. 

"Stop that," Hunter said sourly. "No mind-reading in this compartment, if you please." 

Sorcha -- who was faster on the uptake than her boyfriend -- looked slightly concerned. "He's not going to do something stupid, is he?" Her parents were close friends of Brian's father. 

"This is my dad. Of course he's going to do something stupid." Although Brian didn't look very pleased, everyone in the compartment knew not to take the comment seriously. He loved both of his parents very much. 

"Maybe Skeeter tried to ambush him," Maureen said darkly. "That would be enough to make anyone mad." 

Brian groaned. "_She's_ here?" 

"She's trying to pose Cedric with Paula Diggory," Jim muttered. "It wouldn't surprise me if she asked your dad about…" He shrugged uncomfortably. There were some things that just weren't mentioned. Unlike Lily, he had figured that out by now. "You know." 

There was an awkward silence. 

"It's okay," Brian said after a long moment. "You can say it. I don't remember them anyway." 

Jim settled for examining his sneakers. His parents had sacrificed a lot to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters, but that was nothing compared to what Brian's family had lost. Two of his friend's uncles -- mischief-makers to whose lofty heights the Musketeers aspired -- had been murdered by the Dark Lord for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, while his aunt had been tortured and killed when Brian and Jim were very young. 

"What's taking this train so long?" Tony asked with strained casualness. He pushed open the window and poked his head out, looking back and forth along the train. "Oh." 

"What?" Rory hung half out of the compartment, quite unconcerned about what such a position might to do her family's dignified reputation. "I knew it." 

That was too much. Motivated as much by a desire to break the tension as by genuine curiosity, everyone else looked out the window. 

A number of irritated wizards and witches were trying to conjure two extra cars under the close scrutiny of many ticked-off students and several wide-eyed first-years. One little witch had the unenviable task of attempting to revive three Muggle parents, who had simply fainted dead away at the sight of the extra cars appearing out of thin air. Jim thought he saw Cedric talking with Maureen's little sister Heather and the Lewis quadruplets. 

"You knew there weren't going to be enough compartments?" Tony said skeptically. 

"Of course I did. I've got eyes, haven't I?" Rory tried to wedge herself further out so she could get a better look. "Looks like those are big cars, too. Where are all these -- " She stopped. "Uh oh." 

Maureen twisted to follow her gaze. "'Oops' uh oh or 'duck-and-cover' uh oh?" She spotted whatever it was Rory had seen and winced. "Ouch. Duck-and-cover, everyone." 

Jim prodded Hunter out of the way with an elbow and wriggled himself around until he could see what she was pointing at. _Oh, yeah. Definitely duck-and-cover_. 

There was a knot of red near the front of the train that could only be Brian's enormous family, along with two spots of black that were Jim's mother and father. They were facing a pair of pale-haired individuals -- Rory's grandparents, Jim realized -- and there was quite a lot of shouting going on. 

"Great," Maureen muttered. "Just wonderful. We're never going to get out of here." 

"Dad's going to throw a punch and Skeeter will put it all over the front page," Brian said gloomily. "The Minister doesn't believe a word she says, but other people do. My granddad's really going to get it." 

"Don't worry," Sorcha said as she finally got a good look. "It looks like your aunt Penelope's calming things…" She winced. "I think your aunt Lora's going to punch Rory's granddad." 

Rory's eyes narrowed. "He probably started this as soon as he found out that Skeeter was here." She pulled out her wand and stuck it out the window. 

Jim stared at her. "Um, Rory? What are you -- ?" 

"_Serpentsia Ridikulo_!" 

A bright purple snake shot out of Rory's wand and flew toward the knot of assorted Weasleys, Malfoys, and Chang-Potters, where it hovered above everyone's heads and twisted itself into a message that told Lucius Malfoy to do something very improbable with a flobberworm. 

"Get down get down _get down_!" Brian grabbed Rory by her shoulders and hauled her back inside the compartment as peals of laughter and shouts of outrage came from outside. He looked furious. Well, furious for Brian, anyway. "I thought we agreed not to use the Snake unless we had to!" 

Rory shrugged. She was glowering at nothing in particular, her arms crossed and her eyes flashing. "At least I didn't use the word 'grandfather'," she pointed out irritably. 

"That's not the point!" Brian glared at Jim. "Help me here!" 

Jim did his best to look nonchalant, although he was secretly biting the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing. Sorcha, Maureen, and Tony were actually leaning on each other for support, while Hunter had covered his mouth with his hand and was making suspicious chortling noises. 

Brian threw up his hands in disgust and dug a fat book out of his bag, muttering something about assistant headmaster Snape using them in his potions. No one paid him much mind, although they did take the precaution of scooting away from him. Sometimes Brian tossed his books at his fellow Musketeers. Jim knew from experience that _Aurors Through the Ages_ left bruises. 

"That wasn't very proper behavior for a prefect," he muttered under his breath when he was sure he wasn't going to start chuckling. 

Rory gave him a sidelong glance. "Don't make me hex you." 

"Did you find anything else?" he asked quietly. 

She knew what he was talking about, of course. "Nothing. I tried to talk to Dobby, but he's pretty independent for a house-elf." She glanced at Brian and Maureen; the former was whacking the latter with _Aurors Through the Ages_ in an effort to shut her up. Her voice dropped to the barest whisper. "You think I should tell them, don't you?" 

He only hesitated a moment before nodding. "We're the Four Musketeers, right? They'll understand." 

"No, they won't." She leaned back against the seat and stared out the window. From the commotion outside, someone from the Ministry hadn't liked the Impolite Snake very much. Probably Brian's uncle Percy. "Maybe you don't either. I mean, you don't have grandparents who would probably cheer if every Muggleborn dropped dead." 

"I don't have any grandparents at all, remember?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jim wished he could take them back. Of course Rory knew about his family. Who didn't? "I'm sorry," he said more gently. 

"No, it's all right." Rory blew out a long sigh and seemed to do a complete about-face. "So Cedric wants that card?" 

Jim nodded, anxious for the chance to talk about anything else. Normally none of the Musketeers had problems like these, but right now everyone was on edge for some reason. Maybe it was something in the air. "He really wants it. Brian's cousin Jeremy has two of them, or something like that." 

"Boys and their Frog cards." Rory produced the card from her pocket. "Here. Just don't send him here asking for Agrippa." 

"Thanks." Jim tucked the card into the safest place he could think of -- namely, Brian's bag. Brian didn't notice, since he was rather busy trying to dodge one of Tony's more embarrassing hexes. "Do you think we should break this up?" 

Rory leaned on his shoulder. "Nah. It's fun to watch." 

"Hey!" Sorcha called from the corner where she and Hunter had taken refuge. "Only one snogging couple per compartment!" 

Jim and Rory jumped apart as if each had just discovered the other had a contagious disease. "We were _not_ snogging!" Rory protested. 

Tony grinned, clearly not believing them for a minute. Maureen took advantage of this momentary distraction to sit on him. 

Rory snatched a handful of chess pieces and threw them at Sorcha, who yelped and pushed Hunter in front of her as a makeshift shield. Tony waved his wand in their general direction, producing a handful of sparks and a slightly transparent tarantula that scurried out of the compartment and, among other things, sent the Hunter Thomas Fan Club fleeing in all directions. 

Eventually a very cross witch came in and calmed them down, but by then the newly expanded train was on its way to Hogwarts. 

~*~*~*~ 

Want to learn more about the Malfoys, the Chang-Potters, and the future of your favorite characters? Join the HP Bloodlines Yahoo!Group here. 


	5. The Unit

Part Five

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter _and all its attendant situations, characters, and scenarios are the property of J.K. Rowling. Unseen University is the property of Terry Pratchett. The Musketeers and the Unit are the author's original creations. This story was written solely for the purposes of entertainment.

A/N: Muchos gracias to my ever-wonderful beta-reader Haggridd and all my lovely reviewers. I've _finally _managed to get personalized shout-outs together. Everyone who wasn't replied to before can be found at the bottom in no particular order.

A/N2: The Sorting should be in the next chapter if all goes as planned. If any of my wonderful reviewers would like a cameo, please send an email my way and let me know name and preferred house. Thanks! :-) 

Chapter Five: The Unit

As always, the Musketeers eventually found themselves alone in the compartment. It wasn't a conscious effort on their part, but as Hunter had explained once or twice, they were a tightly knit foursome and no one else, however friendly or however well-intentioned, could intrude on that. Sometimes Rory suspected that Jim felt bad about this, but she didn't see why. She liked her little group just the way it was.

"Did you guys finish reading all those books?" Brian asked as he tucked his new Sickle into his pocket. He had trounced Tony easily despite the other boy's best efforts.

Maureen looked up from her Every Flavor Beans long enough to make a face. "Don't get me started."

"You didn't read anything, did you?" Brian sighed and shook his head in disgust. "How are you going to keep up in Magical Literature, I'd like to know?"

"Just because _you_ think _Rhiannon Rising_ is a classic…"

"It is," Brian jutted his jaw forward defensively.

"No. It isn't." Rory crossed her arms and shook her head in disgust. "Brian, that's the stupidest piece of drivel ever written."

Brian shrugged. "I didn't say it wasn't. But it's still a classic."

"I knew it!" Maureen crowed. "I knew there was a book he didn't like!" She tossed a handful of Every Flavor Beans at a mortified Brian, who raised _Aurors Through the Ages_ threateningly.

Rory just grinned. Personally she agreed with Maureen. _Rhiannon Rising_ might have been an excellent commentary on the fall of the old Irish wizarding institutions, but it was depressing and deadly dull. She preferred the works of the Muggle playwright William Shakespeare, who had lived back when the magical and non-magical worlds were only beginning to divide – not that she wanted to mention that in front of Maureen, who considered _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to be the epitome of fine literature.

"You know," Jim began before Brian could bring his makeshift weapon down on Maureen's head, "if there's really a hundred first-years, how long is the Sorting going to take?"

"Forever," Maureen groaned. Then her eyes went wide. "Oh no! We don't get to eat until after it's finished!"

Rory gave Jim a sidelong look and rolled her eyes. Maureen had depths. She really did. Too bad the aforementioned depths had a hard time competing with her Quidditch obsession, hormones, and enormous stomach. The fact that she never seemed to gain a pound despite eating enough food to feed a small country only added insult to injury.

"We'll save the rest of the Cauldron Cakes for the ceremony," said Brian, practical as ever. "It's against the rules, but…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"Brian. We're the Musketeers. Rules don't apply." Maureen patted him on the shoulder. "Want to go stop by the Club Car and see if anyone there has extra food?"

"And hear my cousins argue about house teams?" Brian asked. "No, thanks."

For as long as the Musketeers had been riding the Hogwarts Express, the large, close-knit Weasley clan had always taken over the Club Car at some point or another. Others were welcome, of course, provided they could brave a sea of red hair and Bill and Lora Weasley's daughters, who were boisterous, shameless, and extremely numerous.

Jim prodded him with a finger. "Come on. Anastasia's probably there."

Brian gave him a sour look before hiding his red face behind his books. He fancied Anastasia Krum, a Ravenclaw fourth-year and an excellent Chaser. Rory happened to know the feeling was mutual. Every time Brian walked past, the girl blushed to the roots of her bushy brown hair and suddenly found the floor extremely engrossing.

"Why'd you have to bring her up?" Maureen asked irritably. "I don't need to hear anything about the Ravenclaw team right now."

"I wasn't talking about the Ravenclaw team," Jim said with an exasperated sigh. "You're too worried."

Maureen glowered at him. "I should be, Mister I'm-Up-Against-Wondergirl." She and Jim both played for Gryffindor – Chaser and Seeker, respectively – and she seemed to take it as a personal affront that he never got very worked up about rivalries with the other houses. "We won't win the Cup this year unless we work our butts off. Have you even seen Watkins fly?"

Here they went again. Jim recited as if by rote. "She never even picked up a broom until last year, she's Muggleborn, she's a second-year and she flew rings around Tasha Rivers on a Cleansweep Six." He raised an eyebrow at Rory, and they both turned to Maureen and said as one, "You've told us already. Repeatedly." Privately both Rory and Jim doubted that anyone could have flown rings around Tasha Rivers, much less a second-year on a Cleansweep of any kind, but they weren't about to say that. Maureen tended to get a little snippy when her stories were questioned.

"Have you forgotten about the others?" Maureen demanded. She began counting off Ravenclaw's team on her fingers. "Rivers is the best damn Chaser this side of the World Cup, Gordon can hold off Bludgers one-handed, Llewellyn doesn't exactly drop the Quaffle, Somersby's about as big as this compartment, Cooper's aim is the best I've ever seen and Krum's just as fast as her dad."

"We've got good people too," Jim said, sounding a little hurt. He may not have taken Quidditch as seriously as Maureen, but he was a good Seeker and Rory knew that he tended to be a lot more of a team player than his fellow Musketeer.

Brian opened _Aurors Through the Ages _and stuck his nose in it with a loud _hmph_. For all that his father played Beater for the Chudley Cannons, he was about as interested in getting on a broomstick as Rory herself – which was to say, not at all. Both of them could fly just fine, but while they enjoyed watching Quidditch, actually playing it was another matter entirely. 

Maureen launched into a long-winded diatribe about the merits of the Gryffindor Quidditch team – or lack thereof – leaving a bemused Jim sputtering and trying to get a word in edgewise. The veteran of many such inconclusive battles, Rory tuned them out and turned her attention to the view out the window. Muggle cultivation was already giving way to the wilderness that marked the boundary between the magical and the mundane. Soon it would be time for their first stop.

Years ago the Hogwarts Express had simply traveled from King's Cross to Hogwarts without pause. This was no longer done. When Rory's father had been a sixth-year, Death Eaters had snuck on the train and used a Searcher Charm to find and kill Muggleborn students. Because the Express was, after all, a magical construct and not a machine, there were no engineers or conductors on board to control it. Thirteen wizarding folk had died before Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger had been able to stop the carnage by making the train vanish completely. Students had been able to survive by escaping in the ensuing confusion, while the Death Eaters had Apparated away.

It was a famous story, but more significantly, it explained why the train made three stops on the way to the way to Hogwarts – first in the tourist trap known as Merlin's Meadow, then at the Avalon Ferry and finally in the town around Unseen University, one of the oldest and largest institutes for advanced magical education in the world. During each halt an Auror scanned the train for timed hexes or evidence of dark magic. No one thought much of it anymore and nothing had been found in years, but too many of the previous generation had been on that train during that terrible day when thirteen of their friends had been unable to escape.

Another effect of the attack, unexpected and unwanted, was that many children didn't attend Hogwarts at all. Sherwood Academy and the Magical Institute of Tintagel – smaller and less well-known – had become ever more popular, while fewer and fewer students arrived at Hogsmeade station every year.

"…not saying it isn't illegal at the amateur level," Maureen was saying impatiently, "but if the Wronski Feint's good enough for that prat Washington, it's good enough for you."

Rory sighed. _Oh, no. Not this again._

Jim and Maureen had both been starters on the team since they were third-years, and ever since then Maureen had spent many a long hour trying to convince Jim that he needed to be more aggressive. He was a perfectly fine gentleman Seeker, she argued, but sometimes rudeness and even outright violence were acceptable.

_This from the witch who was ejected from last year's championship game for excessive profanity_, Rory thought with a slight grin. She saw Brian make a disgusted face and turn to a page headed: "Noteworthy Aurors 1975 – 1985". Alastor Moody, Jennifer McKinnon, and Frank Longbottom headed the list. "Looks interesting," she said under her breath as Jim dug through his bag for a Quidditch rulebook. Maureen smirked as if she had scored a major victory in the battle for a rougher, tougher Seeker. _This'll go on for a while, if only because it's impossible to shut Reen up once she's on a roll._

Brian gave her a sidelong look. "You're just saying that."

Rory grinned and didn't answer.

"Fine." Brian shifted the book so Rory could get a better look at it. "I'd like you to look here," he said as he flipped to "Special Merits and Recognitions: 1995 – 2005" and pointed to one paragraph halfway through the chapter. "See? There's something about my mum and dad in here."

Rory frowned. "You're kidding." She heaved the book completely onto her lap – ignoring Brian's sigh – and read through the long list of names until she stumbled across two familiar ones. "I didn't know your parents were Aurors."

"They aren't. They were with Jim's dad in the Forbidden Forest when You-Know-What happened." He pointed to the relevant paragraph. "According to this, they're only mentioned because Jim's dad had become a famous Auror and everything."

Much of the fame reluctantly acquired by Brian's family had come from the great bravery they had shown in defying the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters – not to mention a corrupted Ministry and magical press. However, some of it had derived from whatever it was that Brian's father had done in the Forbidden Forest the night the forces of evil were finally defeated. No one knew exactly what had happened, since all who participated had been rather closed-mouthed, but everyone in the magical world had seen the pictures plastered across the _Daily Prophet_ and in the pages of history books: the heroic trio of Potter, Weasley and Granger leading their surviving allies out of the woods as the Dark Mark slowly faded from the sky.

The question surfaced before Rory could stop it. _Where was my father that night? Why wasn't _he_ in the Forbidden Forest? Didn't Death Eaters murder him with the Killing Curse?_

_Maybe he just got in their way_, she decided. Then a part of her suddenly went ice-cold. _Or maybe he wasn't the only one who died there. Maybe they killed my mother too._

"What's the matter, Rory? You just turned pale."

"I'm fine." She squeezed Brian's hand and tried to look reassuring. He was like a brother to her. She didn't want to worry him for no reason.

He didn't look very convinced, so it was just as well that someone in the next compartment chose that moment to shriek.

"Get out! GET OUT!" There were scuffling sounds and a few outraged yelps. As the Musketeers looked at each other and shrugged, their compartment door slid open. "You! Weasley!" A sixth-year Slytherin named Opal Kingsley held up a pair of squirming girls, both of who were shouting unkind things at the top of their lungs. It was fairly obvious why Opal was upset; her hair had become a mass of waving purple tentacles with yellow polka dots. "Get those two back in their cages!" she snapped as she tossed the girls into the compartment.

"Watch it!" Brian yelled indignantly. "Those are my cousins!"

"Your entire family should be locked up in a zoo!" Opal retorted, her face turning almost the same shade as her tentacles.

"Nice hair," Rory said cheerfully as she and Jim casually reached over to hold down Brian and a fuming Maureen. "Planning on tying bows on those snakes for the Yule Ball?"

Opal shot her a murderous look. With few exceptions, Slytherins thought of Rory as a traitor to their house. Not only was she a Malfoy, she was easily the Gryffindor most interested in making their lives miserable. Above and beyond their hatred of the other Musketeers, Opal and her ilk loathed Rory – which was perfectly all right, since it was a badge of honor among the Gryffindors to make any Slytherin really furious.

Rory suspected that if she had been alone, Opal would have gone after her with fists flying, wand out, and curses at the ready. As it was, the tall girl just turned on her heel and marched out of the compartment.

Which left the Musketeers to deal with the two discarded Weasleys. "Are you okay?" Rory asked as she helped one of them to her feet.

The little witch nodded, looking more than a little pleased with herself. She was very obviously one of Brian's clan, complete with fire-red waves just brushing her shoulders, freckles spattered across her heart-shaped face and a pair of innocent blue eyes that probably fooled most adults into thinking she was sweet. She had to be a first-year, since Rory had the sneaking suspicion she would have heard about her had she been at Hogwarts for any length of time.

Then Jim extended a hand to the other.

_Merlin's beard! _Rory looked from one witch to the other, trying in vain to find a difference between the two. They were perfect copies of each other. Even their lopsided smiles were exactly the same.

Brian looked completely unfazed. "What were you two doing?" he asked with a resigned sigh.

"Practicing," the girl by Jim said with a grin. "What good's a Medusa Charm if you don't use it?"

"Those weren't snakes, those were tentacles. If you're going to get yourselves in trouble before you're even Sorted, do it properly." Brian looked from one to the other. "I thought Uncle Bill told you not to practice on people, anyway."

"He did. We forgot."

Jim rolled his eyes. His father was practically another Weasley, so he felt right at home with all of Brian's cousins. "Sure you did."

"Um." Rory raised her hand. "Anyone want to clue me and Reen in?"

Brian waved his hand vaguely to encompass the newcomers. "Allow me to present the Unit." He acted as if that explained everything.

"Kind of like the Musketeers," Jim added.

Maureen looked skeptical. "There's no one like the Musketeers."

The one closer to Jim seemed to be the spokeswitch for the Unit. She raised an eyebrow at Maureen and crossed her arms just like Brian's aunt Lora. "That's right," she said. "Fred and I are better."

_Fred? What kind of parents would name their daughter Fred?_ Rory frowned as a sudden, sneaking suspicion whispered at the back of her mind. _What else would a Weasley name identical twins?_

Brian made a face at his cousins. "Cut that out," He looked up at the other Musketeers. "Georgia's the loud one," he explained. "Winifred's the brains. That's how you tell them apart." 

Georgia – or possibly Winifred – rolled her eyes. "Spoilsport."

"I thought Aunt Lora told you not to get in trouble," Brian retorted.

"We're not in trouble," Winifred – Georgia? – pointed out. Then her eyes fell on Brian and Rory's prefect badges and she groaned. "Come on! You wouldn't take points off your own house, would you?"

Brian narrowed his eyes at them. "I've done it before," he said threateningly.

"Told you he was just like Uncle Percy," Georgia muttered in a stage whisper. Her twin smiled as Brian turned an interesting shade of crimson and muttered something very unBrianlike.

Maureen gave a helpless shrug, before collapsing into giggles. "She's right, you know." Brian gave her a look that could probably be banned as an illegal weapon in some countries.

"Okay, you two." Jim gave Rory a raised eyebrow and glanced at the door. She got the message: it was time to evict the Unit before they did any more damage to Brian's ego. Grabbing Winifred by the arm, she dragged the squirming, protesting witch to the compartment door and shoved her out. Georgia followed a second later.

Not that this seemed to deter either twin. "Jim just wants to be alone with his girlfriend," Georgia said knowingly.

"Rory is _not _my girlfriend," Jim protested. Rory didn't bother to point out that he had probably just entrenched the idea in the Unit's collective mind.

Indeed, both girls smiled and started chanting in perfect unison. "Jim and Rory, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N – "

Jim slammed the compartment door shut hard enough to crack the glass.

"Touchy, aren't we?" Rory gave Jim a reassuring smile, which only seemed to fluster him more. Shrugging inwardly at the mystery that was her best friend, she pulled out her wand and set about repairing the door.

~~

Angel: Thank you!

Nethilia: Yes, the chapters probably could be merged. Unfortunately information tends to come to me in spurts. Just the way my little brain works. :-) Thank you for adding this to your favorites.

CJK: Don't worry. Ginny's presence can still be felt.

Anguis: Thank you, and you're welcome. :-)

Amber: Eek! One of my favorite authors! I've been very bad about reviewing your story. *hangs head* Maybe I can write another story about how the Musketeers met. Hmm…

A.R. Moony: Ooh. Multiple reviews. Thanks.

Skye: Thank you. I will.

moonlightcass & lunarscythe moon_kitten_27@hotmail.com: Consider it done. :-)

Hermione M. Granger: Thanks.

Anita Skeeter: Rory's mother _is_ set in stone, but what makes you say she's Herm? ;-)

Fatboy not slim: Jim has a *ahem* minor infatuation with Rory. You'll just have to wait and see if the feeling's mutual.


	6. House, Sweet House

As Thick As Blood 

Chapter Six: House, Sweet House 

Author: Lisse**  
**Author email: lisse@schnoogle.com**  
**Category: angst/darkfic romance mystery**  
**Keywords: future post-Hogwarts children Rory Jim**  
**Rating: PG-13**  
**Spoilers: All the books.**  
**Summary: Two decades after the defeat of Voldemort, a quartet of sixth-years known as the Four Musketeers carry on the proud tradition of mischief and pranks at Hogwarts. But old wounds are not easily forgotten and a Death Eater's wounded pride can be deadly. The next generation has begun to discover that they may be the ones who pay the price for past victories. As Rory Malfoy, Jim Chang-Potter and their friends struggle to learn truths their parents want buried forever, they learn that family is defined by more than blood - and that some things are more powerful than any magic.**  
**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Other disclaimers can be found at the end of the chapter.**  
**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers and to my wonderful beta-reader Haggridd, without whom Otto Chriek would not be attending Hogwarts. Ook!  


"First-years this way! First-years this way!" 

Jim grinned as he saw Madame Hammond herd the bewildered first-years in the direction of the boats. Tradition dictated that every new student make their first trip to Hogwarts in the rickety things. Jim himself had crossed Hogsmere Lake during a gentle drizzle, so he considered himself lucky. In years past there had been everything from gale-force winds to a falling piano - a most singular occurence which school folklore commemorated in the "Better Not Ask" section. 

Today was remarkably pleasant, with only a few fluffy clouds marring the sky. The setting sun painted the western horizon with pinks and purples, and left the east to turn a progressively darker blue-black. Soon there would be a hundred thousand stars magically recreated on the ceiling of the Great Hall, just waiting to receive the stares of the terrified first-years as they were Sorted. 

Speaking of which. "Did you bring the Cauldron Cakes, Maureen?" 

"Yep. Safe and sound." Maureen patted her robes, which bulged in a way that suggested her eating habits had finally caught up with her. Madame Hammond gave her a suspicious look as she waddled over to a waiting carriage, but fortunately Jim's dormmate Tucker Johnson chose that moment to pick a fight with a seventh-year Slytherin. Maureen and her contraband cakes were safe. 

The Musketeers shared their carriage with Peony Longbottom, a cherubic Hufflepuff with large blue eyes and short blond hair. Her parents, Neville and Hannah, were the same age as Jim's father and had been close friends of the Chang-Potters for as long as anyone could remember. Peony gave him a pretty smile as she budged up beside Rory, who seemed to be manhandling _Aurors Through the Ages._ Brian's nose was pressed against the window - just as well, since he was almost as obsessive about his books as Maureen was about Quidditch. 

As if alerted to Jim's thoughts, Maureen opened her mouth to resume what he knew would be a lengthly argument. He decided to nip her in the bud. "For the hundredth time, no Transylvanian Tackle! I already looked it up, okay? It's illegal!" 

"Coward." Maureen crossed her arms and gave him a look that might have been called sassy on other people. On her it was just petulant. 

Rory looked up from her pilfered book long enough to roll her eyes. "For Merlin's sake, Reen! Would you please shut up?" 

Maureen blinked at her, genuinely bewildered by her friend's exasperation. "_Someone's_ in a bad mood." 

"Maybe she doesn't want to hear about Quidditch moves." Peony tilted her head to one side, a thoughtful frown furrowing her brow. "Or maybe she doesn't want to hear you bothering Jim." 

All four Musketeers just looked at her. Peony had been their friend for years and had accompanied them on any number of adventures, but that didn't mean they always knew what to think of her. Her last comment was a case in point. It _sounded_ innocent, but there was always another way it could be taken... 

And they would never be sure, of course. Peony's deepest thoughts were about as accessible as a high-security vault at Gringott's. 

"Or maybe she just doesn't want to sit through the Sorting," Brian muttered as he snatched his book back. "I surely don't." 

Maureen rolled her eyes. "That's right! There are only three Weasleys to root for this year." 

"Four," Jim corrected with a grin. "Uncle Percy and Aunt Penelope practically adopted Cedric." 

"The Weasleys practically adopted _all_ of you," Peony pointed out. "I hear my mom talking about it all the time. One of these days I swear she'll call your dad 'Harry Weasley'." 

"It wouldn't work," Maureen said flatly. "Jim Chang-Weasley doesn't roll off the tongue." 

Brian grinned. "Grandma just sort of takes in everybody. My cousin Nadia was best friends with the six girls in her dorm and they all got Weasley sweaters for Christmas. That's how you know you're an honorary member of the family." 

"Or that your grandma has too much time on her hands," Maureen retorted. No one took her seriously; she practically lived in her dark blue Weasley sweaters during winter. 

Rory, on the other hand, seemed to take the comment at face value. "Exactly. Why would I have one otherwise?" 

Brian stared at her. "Because you're a Musketeer," he said slowly, as if explaining things to a small child. "One For All and All For One." 

Rory muttered something unintelligible, turned and scowled out the window, apparently oblivious to the befuddled stares Brian and Maureen were giving her. Jim felt something twist in his gut. The Malfoys were neither liked nor trusted - facts which his best friend took very personally. He wished he could Apparate to her grandparents' manor and punch Lucius Malfoy right between the eyes. Maybe that wouldn't get him the truth about Rory's mother, but it would certainly make him feel better. 

"We're here," Peony said with a tiny, brittle smile. "It looks like your mom's manning the door, Brian." 

Brian made a face. "Wonderful. Just what we need." 

It wasn't that Brian's mother was a bad woman. She was young as professors went, slim and stately, with a piercing stare and features that alternated between pretty and stern. It was a rare student who saw her perfect smile. Jim could see her now from the window of the carriage. She stood erect before Hogwarts enormous front door like a queen welcoming her subjects. Her dark hair was smoothed back into a serviceable bun, giving her a severe look only slightly softened by her small silver hoop earrings. She was one of the most respected and feared professors at Hogwarts, ranking only slightly below McGonagall and Snape. Rumor had it that she had played a role in the Dark Lord's fall, but what that role might have been no one knew – and there wasn't a student alive who was brave enough to ask her. 

"Jordan!" she was barking as Jim made his escape from the tense atmosphere in the carriage. "Don't you give me that look! I know Canary Creams when I see them, young man!" Bristling with righteous wrath, Professor Weasley descended on Lily's friend Tim Jordan. The offending Canary Creams were deftly removed as Lily, Tim and Brian's cousin Annika Weasley found themselves pinned by the glowering witch. 

Maureen raised an eyebrow as she fell into step beside Jim. "Are those fireworks your sister's hiding?" 

Jim didn't even bother to follow her gaze. "Let me guess. The ones that shoot custard all over the place?" 

"Yep. Got it in one." 

"The ones she set off in the Great Hall during the Halloween feast last year?" 

"That was me and Brian. Lily's got..." Maureen considered the fireworks for a moment. "They look like Crazy Eddie's Fast-Start Sparklers." 

Jim gave her a blank look. 

"The weird American ones, remember?" 

"Oh. Yeah." During her third year Lily had been part of some exchange program with a few wizarding schools in the United States. She had returned with a short-lived Quodpot obsession, the firm belief that Americans were a few ingredients shy of a potion, and quite a lot of souvenirs, most of them explosive. "Just don't give her any ideas." 

"Only if you help me get past Brian's mum," Maureen said, waddling toward the doors as fast as she could. 

Jim glanced back at the carriage, where Brian and Peony were trying to engage Rory in conversation. She was firmly rebuffing their efforts with one of her characteristic sneers. For a moment he considered going back and talking to her alone. After all, he was her best friend, even closer than the other two Musketeers. She _had_ entrusted him with her most secret fears concerning her parents and grandparents. Maybe there was a reason why she had confided in him and not, say, Brian... 

But pulling Rory aside now would mean leaving Maureen to Professor Weasley's mercy. He tore his eyes away with an effort and returned his attention to his teammate. Maureen just gave him an amused look that made the back of his brain feel itchy. 

"What?" he asked irritably. 

Maureen displayed an insufferably smug smile and started shuffling into the Great Hall, leaving a befuddled Jim to stare after her in utter incomprehension. 

The press of excited - and hungry - students eventually carried all four Musketeers to the long Gryffindor table. Jim spotted the usual huddle of Weasleys right near the front of the Great Hall; there was always someone being Sorted in that family. He made his way over, followed closely by a very excited Maureen. She already had a Cauldron Cake stuffed in her mouth. 

"You look like a chipmunk," Tony said as he came up behind her and grabbed her around the waist. Maureen just smiled and murmured something that (if Tony's blush was any indication) was probably not appropriate for small children. 

Jim cleared his throat and found somewhere else to look very quickly. 

"Jealous?" Rory fell into step beside him, looking like her normal, slightly superior self. Jim wasn't fooled. She had just pushed down whatever was bothering her and sooner or later it was going to explode again. He and the other Musketeers needed to have a serious talk with her - and soon. 

In the meantime, there was a much more pressing matter to address. "I am _not_ jealous!" 

"Mm hmm. Sure you aren't." She smiled slyly. "You don't want Tony's girl, do you?" 

Maureen wrapped her arm around Tony's shoulder. "I could always use another boy in my male harem. Right, Brian?" She grinned past Jim at the fourth Musketeer, who just shook his head and seated himself by his cousins. 

"You would want a harem." Tony released his grip on Maureen. He didn't seem angry, exactly, but he had a look on his face that Jim was very familiar with. Every boy who tried to court Maureen eventually wound up wondering what he had gotten himself into, and Tony seemed to be no exception. He hovered for a moment longer, then started toward Cian O'Conner and a slightly bloodied Tucker. 

"You'll be back!" Maureen called after him. "They all come crawling back!" Looking very pleased with herself, she popped another piece of Cauldron Cake into her mouth and gestured grandly toward the head of the Gryffindor table. "Shall we?" 

After a bit of squashing, the Musketeers managed to squeeze themselves in with the Gryffindor Weasleys. Other clusters of redheads could be seen at the head of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Tim Jordan was staring fixedly at the spot where the first-years would be Sorted. If Annika Weasley's enormous grin was any indication, she and Lily had just informed him that the Unit was going to give him serious competition. 

"Any good Quidditch prospects?" Maureen asked once everyone had managed to find a seat. 

"April Lynch," Lily supplied immediately. "Cedric played with her in the Junior League. She's amazing." 

Jim sighed. His sister was only a reserve Chaser, but she kept tabs on the interhouse rivalry almost as religiously as Maureen. "Don't get your hopes up," he said. "Her brother's the Hufflepuff captain this year." Here he nodded to seventh-year Lionel Lynch, who was arguing about something with Head Girl Paula Diggory. 

Maureen gave Jim a sour look. "Killjoy." 

"What about that Mattel girl?" Brian emerged from the depths of his book long enough to contribute to the conversation. "Her mom plays Seeker for the Wasps. I think she was a Gryffindor." 

Lily brightened. "That's right! I forgot about her!" She grinned at Brian, who muttered something about unhealthy obsessions and rolled his eyes at Rory. 

Now that Maureen's life had meaning again, she turned her gaze on the Great Hall doors and started to bang her fists on the table. "What's taking so long? I'm hungry!" 

Rory tilted her head to whisper in Jim's ear. "She has the attention span of a toddler." 

"You just noticed?" 

"Hardly." She elbowed Maureen in the ribs. "Shut up! I think they're starting." 

The doors to the Great Hall had indeed swung open and the long line of first-years had begun to straggle in. Jim caught sight of Cedric's pale face and smiled to show his encouragement. At least he didn't do anything embarrassing, which was more than could be said for some of his fellow Gryffindors. Seventh-year Harriet Black stood up and let out what was surely the loudest whoop to ever echo through the Great Hall. Her little sister Lydia gave her a half-grateful, half-indignant look and toyed nervously with her long black ponytail, obviously wanting to be done with the entire ordeal. 

Even Harriet was better than the Weasleys, who were applauding and stomping and generally making fools of themselves. Assistant Headmaster Snape glowered at them, but there was little enough that he could do just then. Brian's mother was already carrying in the Sorting Hat and setting it on its little stool. 

"If it goes on about capping them all again..." Rory muttered. Jim stifled a laugh. 

If the hat heard her comment, it failed to react. Instead it just opened its mouth and began to sing. 

Lily jammed her fingers in her ears. "I swear, that bloody thing gets more off-key every year." She apparently failed to notice the looks the Musketeers exchanged. Some of their early experiments with ventriloquism had gone a little awry. They certainly weren't about to confess to ruining the Sorting Hat's voice. And it wasn't like the hat seemed to mind. 

At least it still said some good things about the four houses. Some things never changed. 

"_The Gryffindors are true and brave.**  
**They'll always do what's right._" 

_What's right._ Jim propped his chin on his hands and did his best to ignore some of the hat's more ear-splitting notes. _There's no way Cedric will go to any other house. Same with Lydia._ He considered for a moment. The Unit didn't really strike him as Gryffindor material, but then again, his "uncles" Fred and George had turned out to be heroic. Too heroic, maybe. Other pranksters would have let Hogsmeade burn. 

The Sorting Hat finally finished its last warbling note, eliciting a collective sigh of relief from everyone in the Great Hall. While the first-years were still shaking in mute terror, a completely unfazed Professor Weasley marched up to stand beside the hat and flourished an enormous scroll. "When I call your name," the intimidating witch announced, "come forward, sit on the stool, and put the hat on your head. Understood?" Her sneakoscope-like gaze locked on the first-years, who huddled together in self-defense. Jim wasn't surprised - Brian's mother could stare down a basilisk. 

A few of the first-years nodded. Most looked ready to faint. 

"Good enough. Aaronson, Gretchen!" 

"RAVENCLAW!" 

"Abney, Walter!" 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" 

And so it began. The enormous line slowly began wending its way through the Great Hall. Jim unwrapped a Cauldron Cake as he watched the Sorting of another Hufflepuff and a surly-looking Slytherin, then clapped politely as "Anderson, Keegan" became the year's first new Gryffindor. 

"Not another Anderson," Maureen groaned. "Bad enough we've got the other two." Here she threw sour looks at Robert and Jason Anderson, who were both giving their little brother a warm welcome. The former was the militant captain of the Quidditch team, while the latter was the worst sort of Head Boy. Even Percy Weasley called him pompous. 

"There's Lynch." Lily pointed to a small girl who stood rigid and pale, obviously frightened out of her wits. Her brother Lionel kept waving to her from the Hufflepuff table, which didn't seem to help her in the least. Eventually the issue was settled by Paula Diggory, who pulled her overenthusiastic housemate back into his seat. 

Jim turned his eyes back to the drama just in time to see "Black, Lydia!" walk up to the Sorting Hat. After a few moments, she was pronounced a "GRYFFINDOR!" and was promptly smothered by Harriet. "Hey! Gerroff! I need to breath!" 

Lily leaned all the way across the table and prodded him in the arm. "Ten Sickles says Harriet's going to go owl Grandpa Sirius before supper." 

Jim glanced at the two sisters ("Gerroff, Har!") before shaking his head. "I'm not stupid." 

"You could have fooled me." His sister's face suddenly split into a huge grin. "Look who's up next!" 

"Chang-Potter, Cedric!" 

All eyes flew to the tousle-haired, bespectacled boy. He squared his shoulders and marched over to the Sorting Hat, seemingly unafraid of what might happen. Not that he had anything to worry about. The hat shrieked "GRYFFINDOR!" almost before it had touched its head. Jim, Lily and the Musketeers applauded loudest of all, followed closely by the Blacks and various members of the Weasley clan. 

But they weren't the ones that Cedric looked at. His knowing green eyes had locked on the Hufflepuff table as something unreadable passed across his face. It was almost as if he was silently apologizing to someone... 

_Oh, hell._ Jim stopped clapping as he realized what must be going through his little brother's mind. He probably thought he was dishonoring his namesake's memory or something along those lines. _I'm going to kill that Skeeter woman. She's the one who suggested posing him with Paula._ The sudden furrow on Lily's brow told him that she was thinking much the same thing. 

Then the moment was gone. Cedric hurried over to join the Gryffindor table, leaving the hat to Sort a very pale "Chriek, Otto" into Slytherin. 

"What was that about?" Jim whispered as his little brother squeezed in beside Brian's sister Wendy. 

Cedric pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His eyes were strangely bright. "I was just thinking about something." 

"You belong in Gryffindor," Rory said firmly. "More than anyone, you belong here. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." 

"Thanks." Cedric flushed and looked away from Rory, who frowned at him in obvious confusion. Jim saw Maureen nudge Brian and whisper something in his ear. He wasn't sure he liked the evil, knowing grins they exchanged. 

"Dursley, Quentin!" 

A chubby little boy with blond curls stumbled over to the stool and dropped the Sorting Hat on his head, his hands clenched together until his knuckles turned white. There was a long silence - so long that some of the students began to mutter. 

"I can't believe he's here," Brian said incredulously, his eyes never leaving the boy. "I bet his family's mad as anything." 

Jim frowned at him. "What makes you say that?" 

"He's your cousin." Brian pulled his gaze away long enough to look at Jim. "My dad told me all about that side of the family. All of them hate wizards like _they_ hate Muggles." He nodded to the Slytherin table to indicate what "they" he was talking about. 

"Oh." Jim stared at Quentin, who still hadn't moved from the stool. _Since when does Dad have any family? He's got Grandpa Sirius and everyone from the Burrow, but blood kin?_ He shook his head. _Why didn't he say anything?_

_Is this how Rory feels?_

Abruptly the Sorting Hat shifted, pulling drifting attention back to the ceremony. The brim split into the familiar mouth and the hat bellowed "GRYFFINDOR!" 

"I don't believe it!" Brian gaped at the shaking boy as he tottered over and collapsed into a seat. "He can't be a Gryffindor! I can't believe it! His dad's the biggest prat in the world!" 

Quentin shifted in his seat and stared down at his hands, his face turning bright red. He had heard everything Brian had said, Jim realized with a guilty start. He tried to catch his newfound cousin's eye, but Quentin refused to even look up. 

"Congratulations, loudmouth." Maureen threw a Cauldron Cake wrapper at Brian, who unsurprisingly stared at her with more than a little outrage. Maureen was the reigning champion of tactless blunders, after all. 

"Look who's talking," he started to retort, but Rory grabbed his head with both hands and forced him to look at Quentin. Sudden understanding flashed across his face as he dropped his eyes to the table. "Oh. I didn't mean..." 

"I know you didn't," Jim said. He still couldn't get Quentin to look at him. 

Brian smiled weakly. "I just thought..." He shifted in his seat. "His dad's a prat, that's all." 

Rory's lips pressed together in a thin, almost bloodless line. "Bad blood, right?" There was no mistaking the acid in her voice. 

"Well, yeah." Brian rummaged through his bag for a book, carefully avoiding Rory's narrowed eyes. 

The Musketeers fell uncharacteristically silent as the Sorting continued. 

"Darcy, Fitzwilliam!" 

"GRYFFINDOR!" 

"Dunstan, Erica!" 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" 

Maureen propped her chin on her hands, her glare traveling from Rory to Brian and back again. "Brilliant," she said tonelessly. "You two managed to ruin the mood of a joyous and festive occasion in..." She made a show of checking her watch. "Wow. Two point five seconds. I think that's a record." 

Rory narrowed her eyes. "Shut up, Maureen." 

"Can't. It's a well-known fact of life. Weasleys don't think before they open their mouths, Malfoys are touchy sods, and we Woods have to talk. It's genetic." 

Jim frowned at her. "Je-what?" 

"It's a Muggle word, you ignorant git. It's what makes you look like your parents." Maureen flashed Brian and Rory an enormous, toothy smile. "Now kiss and make up. Or do you want me to start talking about baseball?" 

Blank stares answered her threat. 

Maureen sighed. "My mum loves it. Buggered if I know why. Nine players, one ball, one big bat." 

Rory and Brian looked at each other uncertainly. "And...?" Rory said finally. 

"You run a lot," Maureen elaborated. "And you try to hit the ball with the bat." 

Brian looked alarmed. "Isn't that being just a little cruel to the bat?" 

Jim decided now was a good time to turn his attention back to the Sorting. Maureen was arranging pieces of Cauldron Cake on the table. When she started making dioramas, there was no stopping her. He just hoped Brian got the point before she moved on to scale models. He watched as the Lewis quadruplets were Sorted into four different houses in rapid succession. Maybe the hat would have the sense to do the same thing with the Unit. 

"Mattel, Rachel!" 

The much-touted girl made her way to the hat, which took a few moments to proclaim her a "GRYFFINDOR!" Maureen was too occupied with her little diagram to give more than a half-hearted cheer. 

The next girl (a very poised "Mandelbaum, Rowena!") unsurprisingly became a Ravenclaw, while "McCartney, Anna!" took her place at the Gryffindor table. After them there were a number of Hufflepuffs and one very grumpy-looking Slytherin named "Myers, Bethany". Jim hid a smile behind his hand. The Slytherins weren't getting a lot of new students this year. His father had told him that almost half of the students were Muggleborn. And since that particular house refused to soil its oh-so-perfect name by admitting any but the purest blood... 

He found his gaze returning to Rory - Rory with her half-smile that could almost be a sneer and her white-gold waterfall of curls. And before he could stop it, a treacherous thought crept into her mind. _Maybe her mother wasn't a pureblood. Maybe she was a Muggleborn or a Muggle. Maybe - _

He tried to stop the thought, but it refused to be silenced. _Maybe that's the only reason why the hat put her in Gryffindor._

No. Rory had as many faults as anyone else, but she didn't belong in Slytherin. She was a good person. She was. 

"Nitt, Agnes!" 

A large girl stumbled over to the stool and put the hat on her head. Her entire face was bright red and her hair stood up in all directions like an unruly bush. Her eyes kept darting around the Great Hall as if just waiting for someone to laugh at her. 

And someone did. "Don't break the stool!" Bethany Myers shouted. 

Rory and Brian started to stand up together, obviously ready to bring down the full wrath of two prefects on the little brat's head. They needn't have bothered. Sixth-year Claude Avery casually leaned across the Slytherin table and gave the young girl a truly terrifying look. 

Maureen looked up from her diorama, which consisted of Cauldron Cake crumbs arranged in a rough diamond shape. "He's the only decent one in that lot. Cute, too." 

Rory shook her head. "Claude Avery is _not_ cute. He's a Slytherin." 

"Which makes him a complete bastard, I'm sure." 

Rory had the grace to look embarrassed. "That isn't what I meant and you know it." 

Maureen just shrugged. "Don't look at me. I'm not the one being two-faced." 

"Hypocrite," Brian added cheerfully. "The word you're looking for is hypocrite." 

Rory's eyes narrowed dangerously, but she had no point to argue and she obviously knew it. Instead, she slid her gaze over to the Sorting Hat. A perfect eyebrow quirked. "Well. That's something you don't see every day." 

Jim followed her gaze. The Sorting Hat was...squirming. That was the only word for it. It looked like a guilty student pinned by Headmistress McGonagall. The professors were giving each other confused looks; Brian's mother was having a quick talk with Snape and Professor Lupin, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was almost as if the Hat couldn't make up its mind. But that was impossible, wasn't it? 

"Probably a case of dual personality," Brian said suddenly. "It happened once in 1985. My uncle Bill told me." 

Maureen sighed. "Brian?" 

"What?" 

"Sod off." 

Rory started to drum her fingers on the table. "At the risk of sounding like Reen, this is boring and I'm really hungry." Maureen gave her a wounded look, which she either didn't see or chose to ignore. "Maybe a good prod with a wand would get it going." 

Professor Weasley seemed to have the same idea. She flourished her wand and proceeded to give the Sorting Hat a good prod. It yelped and finally pronounced poor Agnes a Hufflepuff. She hurried over to the table amid peals of laughter. 

"You have to feel sorry for her," Maureen said. "She didn't exactly make a good impression. Especially with _some_ people giving her extra personalities." Here she gave Brian a warning look. 

He just shrugged and swiped a piece of her diorama. 

"Hey! Give that here!" Maureen made a grab for the pilfered Cauldron Cake - from her squawks, it represented something called an outfielder - and managed to knock more of the diorama onto the floor. When Brian's mother glared at them, Rory responded by giving her a truly obnoxious smile and conjuring golden halos above all four Musketeers' heads. There was some laughter at this, especially from the unSorted first-years. Even people who had never met them probably had trouble picturing any of the Musketeers as angelic. 

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" Brian's mother snapped. She made the halos vanish with a wave of her wand before summoning "Smith, Eskarina" up to be Sorted. 

Maureen winced. "Oops. I think that's a new record." 

"Probably." Jim caught Head Boy Jason Anderson giving them a murderous glare and did his best to look innocent. It didn't seem to work very well. After a few moments he gave up. "Do we have any Cauldron Cakes left?" 

Rory grabbed the remaining piece of the diorama and popped it into her mouth. "Not anymore," she said indistinctly. 

Maureen glared at her. "Hey! Some of us are starving here!" 

"You're the one who ate all the other Cakes," Brian pointed out. 

"I don't remember hearing you lot ask for them." 

"That's because you were too busy stuffing your face." Brian nodded toward the Sorting. "Besides, we're almost done. You can wait a little longer." 

Jim glanced at the line of first-years. A trio of redheads were moving toward the front of it. "You mean until your cousins get Sorted?" 

"That's right." Abandoning the other Musketeers, he edged over toward the other Weasleys and cheered with them as Percy's son Jeremy and the Unit joined the rank of Gryffindors. Winifred Weasley walked off with the Sorting Hat - as a souvenir, she claimed when Professor Weasley snatched it back and returned it to "Weiss-Jamari, Elke". Not long after that it was Maureen's turn to congratulate her little sister as a very relieved Heather Wood staggered over to the table and sat herself between Jeremy and Cedric. 

Finally the last student was Sorted and the hat was spirited off by a helpful prefect. Minerva McGonagall rose from her seat, instantly quieting murmuring students. Everyone knew that their headmistress was a heroine, and even most of the Slytherins treated her with respect. 

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said without preamble. "For those of you just beginning your education here, I know you will find the next seven years to be enjoyable and challenging. As for the rest of you, I think you will find the hallways a little more crowded this year." 

"About time!" Maureen shouted over the cheers. 

McGonagall waited until most of the applause had died down before continuing. Jim could see a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Indeed. This is the largest class in many years. I think it is safe to say we can expect great things from all of you." The not-quite-smile vanished suddenly, replaced by a stern frown. "The rest of you will be setting an example for this class, and I expect certain rules to be obeyed." 

"Uh oh," Brian muttered. "Here we go again." 

"The Forbidden Forest is off limits. It has its name for a reason." The headmistress frowned down at a small slip of parchment in front of her. "Certain students should also bear in mind that releasing creatures of any kind from the forest is strictly forbidden." 

The Musketeers looked at each other. "I thought we agreed not to tell her about that," Rory said. 

"We did." Maureen rolled her eyes. "She's making a big deal out of nothing. It wasn't as if Bubbles was that big." 

Jim stared at her. "Reen, it was an Acromanutla! It tried to eat us." 

"Only because Brian tried to kill it." 

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Gee, I wonder why." 

McGonagall gave the four friends a warning look before she continued. "Our caretaker has asked me to remind you that the following items are not permitted on school grounds: Treacle Bombs, Exploding Cupcakes, Wizard Wheezes Canary Creams (Patent-Pending), Lightning Mops, and anything involving the word 'gorilla'." Again, there was no mistaking which students she was aiming this at. Maureen's grin was positively devilish. 

"Now, then." Professor McGonagall waved her wand twice. Mountains of food appeared on the table. "Enjoy." 

No one had to be told twice. There was a flurry of activity as everyone made a grab for the food of their choice. 

Almost everyone, Jim corrected as he watched a very familiar figure leave one of the other tables and slip out of the Great Hall. He threw a glance at Brian's mother, who just pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded once. He abandoned his empty plate and started for the door. 

"Jim?" Rory rested her hand on his arm, looking up at him with narrowed gray eyes. "You don't have to. You know his parents don't like it." 

Jim nodded. "Maybe. But I think someone should." 

For a moment he thought she was going to protest, but all she did was nod. "All right. I'll see you later." 

Then she turned back to the other Gryffindors. 

For a moment Jim just look at her, half-expecting her to come and drag him back. She didn't, of course. Maybe she did understand after all. 

He wrapped his cloak around himself and walked out of the Great Hall, fully aware of Professor Weasley's unreadable eyes following his every move. There were some things he just had to do, and this was one of them. 

Other Disclaimers: Otto Chriek, Eskarina Smith and Agnes Nitt are the creations and property of Terry Pratchett. Fitzwilliam Darcy is a creation of Jane Austin. As stated above, no money is being made from this fic and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Did you like the chapter? Hate it? Let me know! Feel free to review. :) 

This chapter has now ended. 

http://pub79.ezboard.com/fschnooglethebestofharrypotterfanfictionfrm79**  
**


	7. Well-Spoken Words

Chapter Seven: 

Well-Spoken Words 

~*~*~*~ 

Quick, sure steps carried Jim across Hogwarts' grounds. He had followed this particular path many times before. Although the stars and the crescent moon hardly gave enough light to see what lay before him, he never hesitated or misstepped; he could have walked it blindfolded -- and besides, there was light enough once he reached his destination. 

The monument occupied a small plot of land near Hogsmere Lake. It had been erected when Jim was a little boy; he remembered attending the dedication, standing uneasily beside Lily and trying to understand why all the grown-ups were crying. He knew now. No matter what his sister claimed, he knew his history. He knew why his family was so revered. Just then he hated the hero-worship. Maybe his parents deserved some share of it, but surely most of it belonged to the dead. 

The memorial was a shimmering silver pool surrounded by gravel paths and small, gleaming plaques set in stone. Each plaque -- one hundred and thirty-three in all, one for every student who had lost their life at the hands of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters -- was marked with a single gem, a solitary name, and two numbers. The gems, topaz, sapphire, ruby or emerald, commemorated the victims' houses. The two gleaming numbers denoted the students' class year at the time of their death and the number of losses each one's particular family had suffered. The pool in the middle was a giant Pensieve, formed of memories donated by those who had known and loved the deceased. 

As always, Jim wove his way through the plaques until he came to one bearing a topaz. The name _Cedric Diggory_, and the numbers _7_ and _1_, shone golden against the polished black marble. He called a memory of his little brother to mind and brushed the name with his fingertips. He liked to believe that somehow the shade of Cedric Diggory saw these fragments of his new namesake's life, and thus knew that he hadn't been forgotten. He wasn't sure why he did this or even if he had a right to. He knew that Amos and Elizabeth Diggory found it too painful to visit and that they had tactfully asked the Chang-Potters to leave their memories buried, but it seemed to Jim that it was better to remember and mourn than to push the dead away -- so he tried to make up for the Diggorys' absence in some small way. He didn't know why he disobeyed the dead boy's parents, but at least it made him feel better every time some fawning, ignorant wizard or witch treated his family like royalty while the real victims were forgotten. 

_Maybe because I'd want somebody to do the same thing for me._

Soft footsteps came from his left. He didn't have to look up to know who was approaching him. It was the same person he had seen leave the Great Hall minutes before. He had known she would come here eventually. "Do you want me to leave?" 

"No. Of course not." Paula Diggory absently brushed brown hair over her shoulder, her gray eyes as unreadable as Rory's ever were. The two girls could hardly be called friends or even acquaintances, but Jim had long ago realized that they shared more than they knew. Both of them had lost family to the Dark Lord and both were forbidden to speak of the dead, albeit for different reasons. Perhaps fearing that the same fate would befall their curious daughter as befell their son, Paula's parents wouldn't allow her to learn anything about her brother or even to ask about him. No matter how many times Jim's parents had asked -- no matter how many times Paula herself had tried to uncover another piece of her family's past -- the answer had always been the same. All Paula had were school records and archived articles from the _Daily Prophet._

"I was showing him my brother on his new broom," Jim said quietly, not wanting to disturb the strange stillness that always surrounded the memorial. "Cedric wants to be a Seeker, you know." 

"Mother and Father won't be happy." Paula's voice was soft and bitter. Sometimes Jim wondered why she had been Sorted into Hufflepuff. The hat supposedly never made a mistake -- except maybe with Lily on her darker days -- but there was a hardness in the Head Girl that had never seemed to fit the rest of her house. It was as if a little part of her had turned to stone many years ago. 

"I don't think your parents matter much to Cedric." He didn't mean to be blunt, but he knew that he was just telling the truth. While his little brother wasn't as tactless as Lily and would never hurt anyone intentionally, he rarely let others' dictates get in the way of his goals. Jim could only assume the he had inherited that from their mother, who could be extremely stubborn when she chose to be. 

The Head Girl didn't answer. Instead she walked over to the plaque. Like Jim, she brushed it with her fingertips. There was a long silence before she spoke again. "I hoped he would be Sorted into Hufflepuff. No one belongs in Gryffindor more than your brother, and there I was hoping that..." She trailed off and just looked down at the plaque, lost in her own thoughts. 

"I know he was thinking the same thing," Jim said. He grimaced inwardly. _Tact, Jim. Tact. Try it sometime._ He regrouped his thoughts and tried again. "What I mean is, I'm sure he thought he was disappointing you." 

Paula threw him a skeptical look. "Jim, he's only eleven. Don't overestimate him." 

"I'm not." Jim shrugged helplessly. "You know how he is." 

"No, I don't. I haven't grown up with him, remember? I don't have a brother." 

This wasn't going exactly as he had planned. "Paula -- " 

"Jim?" Her voice sounded hoarse, as if she had been shouting. "Do me a favor and shut up for a minute." 

Jim snapped his mouth shut, silently berating himself. _Idiot! Maybe you could open your mouth a little wider next time. Your _entire_ foot quite fit in it. Next you'll be taking the Tactless Wonder title from Maureen, who's probably all warm and cozy in the Common Room instead of making a complete prat out of herself._ He thought about going inside, but that would mean leaving Paula out here. She always came out here and he always followed, silent as a shadow. Usually he just kept quiet. In hindsight that had would have been a better idea. Just then the Head Girl probably wanted him to go jump in the lake and bother the giant squid. 

He had to try one more time. "Paula." 

She pushed herself away from the memorial and looked at Jim. Her eyes were unreadable, but there were wet trails down her cheeks. "I thought I was ready," she said tonelessly. "I knew your brother was in that line and I told myself that I wasn't going to care." She shook her head. "So much for the brave and stoic Head Girl, huh?" 

Jim tried to find words, but of course there were none. He remembered when Grandfather Shing and Grandmother Jun had been murdered because their youngest daughter happened to be a famous Auror, not to mention Harry Potter's wife. He was just three. People he didn't know had tried to comfort him, but their words had made no sense, because no words could undo the Killing Curse. He had hated the meaningless sympathy then, just as he knew Paula would hate it now. 

So he said the only thing he could think of that didn't sound trite. "Are you sure you don't want me to leave?" 

Paula nodded emphatically. "Yes. I'm sure. Absolutely. Please stay." She tilted her head to look up at his face, displaying a sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "He belongs in Gryffindor," she said softly. "Don't make him live up to a namesake." 

Jim managed an uneasy grin. "He's a Chang and a Potter. He's used to it." 

For some reason that just made her even sadder. But all she said was, "Are you ready to go back inside?" 

Jim threw one last look at the Pool of Remembrance. "Sure. If you are." 

Paula nodded. Shoulders squared, her Head Girl badge gleaming in the silver light of the pool, she started back toward Hogwarts. 

~*~*~*~ 

The Gryffindor Common Room was _the_ place to go for the best post-Sorting party, which was why Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even a few Slytherins had crammed in to join the fun. Annika Weasley and Tim Jordan were happily showering the more uptight prefects with Treacle Bombs, the three Hufflepuff Chasers were showing off their new brooms by flying dangerously close to everyone's heads, there were mugs of warm butterbeer being conjured up from somewhere, and the Unit had been practicing their Medusa Charm on some of their fellow first-years -- apparently with great success if the amount of hissing was anything to judge by. Lily Chang-Potter kept stuffing her fingers in her ears and complaining that the new headsnakes were just spouting nonsense. It was wholly enjoyable chaos, and if some people grumbled about it, they could rest assured that Professor Lupin always broke it up if things got out of hand. 

"At this rate we're going to have the shortest Sorting party ever," Rory said as she Summoned the Unit's wands away from them. The world could only be subjected to so many polka-dotted headsnakes. Ignoring the outraged squawks coming from somewhere in the crowd, she stuffed her new acquisitions in her pocket and looked back at her fellow prefects. "When do we want to end this?" 

"Soon," Ravenclaw Katerina Tsvel muttered as she sidestepped a Treacle Bomb. It splattered against Liana Rhydderch's robes. 

Claude Avery glared at the Treacle Bomb tossers. Tim and Annika gave him crisp salutes and turned their attention to a besieged Jason Anderson. Satisfied that their attention had been diverted, Claude looked back at the other prefects. "You know what? I hate being a sixth-year." 

This pronouncement was met with much murmured agreement. Traditionally it was the sixth-year prefects who kept Common Room parties from getting too out of hand, which of course meant that they were not only the targets of all sorts of magical mischief, but also the ones who had to stand around and watch everyone else have fun. 

"It's just for a little while longer." Arun Gupta ducked as Diane Montgomery and Hasan Sharif went flying overhead. He crossed his arms and sighed. "I hope." 

"It can't be too much longer. You know what Professor Lupin and my mum said about parties going past midnight." Brian held up his watch. "See? Almost there." 

"I don't know if I can last ten more minutes," Liana said. She deflected another Treacle Bomb and sent if flying toward the crowd. It landed on Jason, who just frowned at her and resumed pulling the Unit off the furniture. 

Claude gave Liana a sidelong look. "You should work on your aim." 

"You're right," Liana said serenely. "I should." There was a twinkle in her eye that suggested her aim had in fact been flawless. If Claude's sly grin was any indication, he thought much the same thing. 

When Rory had become a prefect last year, she had discovered an interesting phenomenon. The interhouse rivalry wasn't quite as pronounced or quite as vicious for the prefects as it was for the rest of Hogwarts. It was almost as if there was some unspoken agreement that no matter what happened, there always needed to be a group of people who could work together and take care of things. This hadn't always been the case. Jim's parents had both been prefects, and from the stories Jim had passed on to the Musketeers, Rory could guess that things had been very tense between the prefects two decades ago. She suspected that the informal cooperation, like so many other things her generation took for granted, had its origins in the Dark Lord's return. 

Maybe that was why Claude and his fellow Slytherin, Olivia Stonebrook, didn't seem quite as bad as their housemates. They certainly didn't hate her, and if they thought she was somehow a traitor to her family name, they had never said so. It was refreshing. 

"Seven minutes." Michael Banting said. He was splattered with treacle -- probably because he had been too busy staring at his watch to dodge the assorted projectiles Annika and Tim had lobbed at him. "Seven minutes. I can do this." 

"_I_ can't," Olivia announced. "Rory, Brian, either you two bring your house under control or I'm going to do something drastic." 

"Your house is making noise too," Brian muttered, but he raised his wand over his head. "On the count of three?" 

Rory nodded and readied her own wand. "One. Two. Three. _Elucipassim!_" 

Showers of red sparks flew out of their wands, throwing wild shadows around the Common Room. At the same time, an ear-splitting squeal quickly silenced all conversation. The party-goers covered their ears and glared at the prefects, who had all had the presence of mind to conjure up fluffy pink earmuffs. When Rory was satisfied that she had everyone's attention, she nodded to Brian and the two of them dropped their wands. The noise and the sparks vanished as quickly as they had appeared. 

"There," Rory said to the other prefects as they removed their earmuffs. "You get to herd them out now. I need to talk to my house." 

Claude grinned. "Just _your_ house? Are you plotting against us innocent Slytherins?" 

"Don't flatter yourself." She pushed Claude after Olivia, although she had to admit that there wasn't much for him to do. There weren't many Slytherins at the party, and those few were the nicer sort who didn't need much encouragement to march back to their rooms. Claude seemed to realize this as well, because he turned his attention to prodding awake some of the older students. Apparently Harriet Black and her partner-in-crime Leah Harris had broken out their specially enhanced butterbeer. From the number of bleary-eyed seventh-years stumbling about, they had been more than happy to share. 

When the last stubborn batch of Hufflepuffs had been shooed out and the more intoxicated seventh-years had been sent up to bed -- belting out some dreadful song about a hedgehog, no less -- Rory finally risked a glance around the Common Room. There wasn't a bare surface anywhere. Everything was covered with candy wrappers, butterbeer bottles, half-empty goblets of pumpkin juice, and any number of fake wands. Most of the Gryffindors had found comfortable spots on the chairs and were lounging around, watching Rory expectantly. The fifth-year prefects were trying to confiscate a bag of Ton-Tongue Toffees from the Unit, with little success. 

Rory stood up on a sticky armchair so everyone could see her. Usually the seventh-year prefects were the ones who gave beginning-of-term speeches, but since Jason Anderson wasn't exactly on good terms with the rest of his house and Cara Liveright was sleeping off the effects of one too many butterbeers, the task had fallen to her. Brian just gave her a sympathetic look. He didn't seem to realize that while there were several things that bothered Rory, public speaking wasn't one of them. 

She didn't even bother to raise her voice. Considering how loud things had been just a few minutes ago, the Common Room was remarkably quiet. Maureen was sitting on top of the chess table and making rude faces, but Rory could ignore her easily. She couldn't spot Jim in the crowd. Maybe he and Paula had actually tried to talk things out this year. It would be a step in the right direction, at least. 

Those were things to worry about later, thanks. For now she had a speech to make. "All right, everyone. Pay attention!" When the murmurs had stopped, she rested her hands on the back of the chair and faced the crowd. Even standing up on the furniture, she still wasn't a particularly towering figure. "First of all, whoever emptied butterbeer all over my favorite chair should watch their back. I'll make you wish your father never kissed your mother." There was a bit of chuckling from the first-years, but no one else said anything. Rory knew that the underclassmen had a healthy fear of her. She had worked hard to cultivate it, after all. 

She crossed her arms and glared right at Tim and Annika. "Second, no more Treacle Bombs. We're not five years old." 

"You should talk!" someone shouted. Rory didn't have to look to know it was Maureen. 

"What about Dungbombs?" one of the Unit asked. Georgia, Rory guessed. Wasn't she supposed to be the louder one? Or maybe that was Winifred. 

"No Dungbombs. And nothing else on the Headmistress' list. If you have it, I don't want to know about it. Understood?And that doesn't just go for me, either. See them?" She pointed to Brian and to Sarah Fletcher and Yves Saint-Croix, the fifth-year prefects. "They have those badges for a reason. Be discreet. Understand?" 

Everyone nodded. 

"Good." Now for the fun part. Rory had to smile as she spoke. "One last thing. Brian has told me that his mother's twentieth anniversary is coming up -- " 

She was interrupted by cheering. The assorted Weasleys and the Chang-Potters were the loudest, naturally. 

"I'm not finished." When the Unit was finally shushed, Rory silently looked over at Brian, raising an eyebrow askance. He grinned and nodded. "We were thinking that we could put together some sort of surprise party for her. Unless someone has a problem with that?" 

No one objected, of course. Professor Weasley was strict, but she was also more than willing to defend both her house and Professor Lupin, her fellow Gryffindor, when the need arose. Besides, what self-respecting Hogwarts student would refuse a good party? 

Rory smiled. "Then the prefects will be organizing something soon. If you would like to help, just talk to one of us or to the nearest Weasley. We'll be asking for donations, so don't spend every Sickle on your next trip to Hogsmeade. I think Mr. Jordan will understand if we don't empty the shelves at Wizard Wheezes this year." There was general laughter at this. Tim's father Lee was the current manager of and spokeswizard for the popular joke store. For a moment Rory's eyes fell on the Unit and her smile faltered. Brian's uncles had founded Wizard Wheezes before they had even graduated from Hogwarts. It was still owned by the Weasleys, as far as she knew. 

She pushed the melancholy thoughts away. "Does anyone else have anything they want to add?" 

"Quidditch tryouts!" Robert Anderson called. "Help us fly rings around Ravenclaw!" Maureen, Leah, and the rest of the team cheered. Rory saw Cedric Chang-Potter and Heather Wood begin to talk excitedly. 

"What positions?" Rachel Mattel asked loudly. 

Robert opened his mouth -- no doubt to ramble on about his stringent requirements for each position -- but Rory spoke first. The last thing she needed was the fifth-year talking everyone's ears off. "We'll post open positions later. Won't we?" 

"Sure we will," Maureen said as she clapped a hand over Robert's mouth. "Carry on, your ladyship." 

Rory fought the urge to stick out her tongue. "Anything else?" When no one spoke up, she nodded and climbed down from the chair. "Good. Now get up to your dorms before I hex you!" 

"Is the queen finished holding court?" 

Rory spun around, half-expecting to find a group of Slytherins sneering at her. But it was only Claude. The prefect was leaning against the wall and displaying a lopsided smile. She relaxed slightly. "I wasn't holding court." 

"You could have fooled me. Rory Malfoy, leader of the Gryffindors, urging her minions into battle." His grin widened, taking the sting out of his words. 

"Shouldn't you be twirling a mustache or something?" Rory retorted, but she couldn't help but smile. "So is there a reason why you're still here?" 

"I wanted to talk to you, actually." 

Rory blinked. "Oh? About what?" 

Claude hesitated. "I mean I want to talk to you elsewhere." He gestured to the Common Room, which was only gradually emptying. 

"We could go out into the hallway," Rory suggested. Maureen had spotted her talking to Claude and was starting to make exaggerated kissing motions. Not too far away, Brian was standing with his arms crossed, looking thoroughly disgusted with her. Weasleys in general tended to take a dim view of Slytherins. Brian probably thought Rory was consorting with the enemy or something stupid like that. 

"That sounds fine." Claude gave the other two Musketeers a jaunty salute and then hurried out of the Common Room before Brian could send a nasty hex after him. Rory followed at a more leisurely pace. Whatever it was Claude wanted, she wasn't about to be dragged out of Gryffindor Tower because of it. 

The hallway was considerably colder than the Common Room. Rory crossed her arms and did her best not to shiver. "All right?" she demanded a little irritably. "Why exactly are we out here? I'm going to die of hypothermia." 

"Flint and Kingsley want to ruin that party of yours," Claude said without preamble. 

Rory blinked. As far as she knew the plans had only been known by a few select people -- namely the Musketeers and a few other high-placed Weasleys. "Who blabbed?" 

"Who do you think? Darius and Albus were talking all about it at the Hufflepuff table and Kingsley overheard when she was coming in. Apparently a Weasley did something to her hair." 

"Two Weasleys," Rory corrected. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. It would have been Darius who gave the plans away. "I'll have the prefects on guard duty. Now shoo." 

Claude's grin faded slightly. "What, not even a 'thank you'?" 

"Fine. Thank you." She made sure there was geniune sincerity in her voice, because she really meant what she said. "And good luck with Flint and company." 

"No problem." 

There was a long silence. Claude didn't actually start in the direction of Slytherin's Common Room. Rather he just shifted from foot to foot. "Um. Yes. Right." 

"Was there something else?" Rory prompted. "Is Kingsley plotting an attempt on my life?" 

"It's not that." 

Rory quirked an eyebrow. "I'm waiting." 

Claude blew out a long sigh. "Rory..." 

"Yes?" 

"I..." 

"Is everything okay?" 

Jim came striding down the hall, looking from Rory to Claude and back again, frowning slightly as he obviously tried to puzzle out what was going on. He didn't look very happy at all. 

Rory sighed. For some reason Jim's interruption bothered her to no end. She turned back to Claude with a rueful smile. "So. I'll...I'll see you in Transfiguration." 

"Or you could come visit me in my Common Room," Claude suggested. 

Now Jim _really_ didn't look happy. Rory saw him opening his mouth, no doubt to make some angry protest about Gryffindor solidarity, so she spoke up quickly. "I don't think I want to sit around in a dungeon." 

Claude made a face. "It's not a dungeon." 

"It's underground and it's dimly lit. What else would you call it?" 

Jim muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "cesspit." 

"We're not all bad, you know." Claude smiled easily, apparently oblivous to Jim. "Your father was a Slytherin, wasn't he? He didn't seem half-bad for all that he supported Dumbledore." 

Every charitable thought Rory might have been having about her fellow prefect vanished. "Get out." Her voice could have cut steel. 

Claude frowned at her. "What?" 

"My father _died_ fighting for Dumbledore." She could have used other words. Butchered. Torn apart. Tortured until surely the Killing Curse seemed a small mercy. Maybe worse. Yet she certainly wasn't going to let Claude Avery know those things -- and she would never tell Jim. One didn't need to know, and the other didn't need the burden. But other words spilled from her and try as she might, she couldn't contain them. "I'm a Gryffindor, in case you forgot. Get back to your dungeon before I hex you!" 

"I didn't mean it like that!" 

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Then how did you mean it?" 

Claude's mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. "I..." 

"Claude. Just...get out." 

Without waiting to see if Claude obeyed, she turned and fled up to her dorm. Ife and Laura tried to speak to her, but she sneered at them like her grandfather sneered at the mere mention of her friends. She flopped on her bed and curled her hands into claws as if she wanted to shred her pillows with her bare hands. _Stupid, bloody, double-cursed Slytherin!_

Emily Pankowitz took one look at her face and quickly fled. Just as well. Talking was the last thing she felt like doing. 

~*~*~*~ 

Claude took a step forward, as if he planned to follow Rory back into the sanctuary of Gryffindor Tower. That was just too much. Jim grabbed the other boy's arm and hauled him backwords. He wasn't as strong as Claude, but given his height, he didn't need to be. "Leave her alone." 

"Why? So you can go _comfort_ her? I thought you high-and-mighty Potters were above that." 

Jim wished he had Lily's quick tongue just then. He just knew she would have come up with some crushing retort. Then again, Lily wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place. "I'm really hoping I misunderstood that." 

"You understood it just fine," Claude bit out. He twisted his arm free of Jim's grip, but made no move toward the Fat Lady's portrait. Instead he just stood there, as if waiting for a cunning retort. 

Nothing was forthcoming. Jim just fought the urge to ball his hands into fists. "She's my best friend." 

Claude shrugged. "Whatever you say." Abruptly his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You think that Slytherin is the same as Death Eater. Not all of us followed the Dark Lord, and you know, we don't all practice the Dark Arts. Some of us aren't proud of what our parents did. Even if some of you don't seem to realize that." He glanced back at Gryffindor Tower. It was perfectly clear to whom he was referring. When he turned back to Jim, he actually looked hurt. "Just keep that in mind." 

He turned on his heel and stalked off down the corridor, leaving Jim to lean against the cool stone wall and wonder why everyone had gone stark raving mad. 

~*~*~*~ 

"Rory? Oy, Rory! Who insulted your honor this time?" 

Rory rolled over and glared. "I don't need a smartass, Reen. Go away." 

Maureen heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Look," she said bluntly, "I know something's wrong. So does Brian. So does everyone you kicked out of here." She waved her hand to indicate the empty dorm. "Either Laura can keep hiding with the second-years or you can tell me what's going on." 

Rory propped herself up on her elbows and tried to out-stare Maureen. There weren't many people who could meet her eyes when she was really determined to be left alone. 

Her friend crossed her arms. "You're being a bitch." Then, because she was who she was, she cocked her head to one side and smiled slyly. "Well, more of a bitch than usual." 

"What part of 'I don't need a smartass' did you not understand?" 

Abruptly Maureen was very serious. "Either tell me what's wrong or I'll march out there and ask Jim. I think we both know how long that boy can keep a secret from me." 

_Longer than you think._ For a moment Rory considered debating the point further, but then she gave up. The last week had worn her down until she just wanted to talk. Maybe Maureen would try to beat the truth out of her grandparents, but then again, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all. There wasn't much point in being secretive if by being so she was terrorizing her entire dorm. 

"Claude is a bastard." 

"And? He may be the best Slytherin in the lot, but that's not saying much." Maureen leaned closer. "Now spill." 

It was no use. Rory knew when she was going to be badgered all night. "My grandparents lied about my mother," she said tonelessly. 

Maureen gaped at her. "You're joking." 

"No. I'm not." She explained everything -- how she had caught her grandparents in a lie, how they had refused to explain anything, how she had finally wormed a tantalizing shred of information out of Dobby, and how everything she knew about her own identity was suddenly in doubt. Through it all Maureen just stood there, her eyes getting wider and wider with each word until they were as big as saucers. 

"Wow," she said when Rory finished. "Oh, wow. I can't believe they would..." She sat down hard on her bed, situated right next to Rory's, and fumbled for words. Rory had never seen her brash friend speechless before. "You don't even know if your mum's alive or dead?" 

Rory looked down at her hands. "I hope she's alive. I always thought I would meet her someday. But if she's dead, that means she didn't abandon me." She squeezed her eyes shut, because she was a Malfoy and Malfoys didn't cry. Not ever. 

Maureen worried her lower lip. "Couldn't you ask someone? Maybe Jim's dad would -- " 

"Jim's dad hates me. I'm a Malfoy, remember?" 

"You're Jim's friend, genius. They're not going to hate you." Maureen rested her chin on her hands and gave Rory a long, considering look. "I'll bet my dad knows a couple of big Beaters who wouldn't mind teaching your poncy git of a granddad some manners." 

Rory had to smile at that, if only for a moment. "It wouldn't work. My grandfather _was_ Minister for a while. He still has some friends in high places." 

"Ah." Maureen quirked an eyebrow. "That would be why you haven't told Brian." 

"He would go ask his grandfather and Percy eventually, and then my grandfather would have one more thing to use against them." Rory ran her fingers through her hair. "That, and he would just tear apart the entire library." 

"There's four Musketeers, not three. You can't keep him in the dark forever." When Rory didn't counter that argument, Maureen sighed and tossed her pillow at her. "Cheer up. It's not your fault that your granddad's being a bastard." 

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the understatement of the year." Rory stared up at her bed's scarlet curtains. "Sometimes I just want to hit him." 

Maureen grinned. "Sometimes?" 

"Fine. All the time." 

"That can be arranged." 

Rory glanced at her friend. Maureen was still smiling, but there was a nasty set to her jaw. She wished she had kept her mouth shut. Now Maureen was going to get all worked up over something that wasn't really her problem and there would just be a big mess to untangle. If there was one thing Rory wasn't in the mood for, it was trying to fix yet another problem. 

She didn't say all that, of course. "You would go in the same room as my grandparents? Willingly?" 

Maureen shrugged. "There would be a lot of hexing involved." 

"Just have a camera handy. That's a memory I want to last forever." She smiled at the mental image. _Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the Amazing Jelly-Legged Skrewts._

"You've got that look again." 

Rory frowned. "What look?" 

"The 'Now-_There's_-A-Mental-Picture' look." 

"I do not." 

Maureen shrugged. "Whatever you say. All I know is that's the kind of look that only goes with two mental pictures." 

Rory rolled her eyes. "And those would be?" 

"Revenge and Hunter Thomas topless." 

There was a strangely contemplative silence as both girls stared off into space. 

"Wow," Rory said finally. 

Maureen nodded. "Wow works." She considered for a moment. "So does yummy." 

"You realize that this is an entirely inappropriate conversation and that Sorcha would wipe the floor with us if she ever heard about it?" 

Another nod. 

"And you brought this up on purpose to distract me, didn't you?" 

"Damn right." 

Rory smiled faintly. "Reen?" 

"Huh?" 

"Thanks." 

~*~*~*~ 

**Further Disclaimers**: Any and all hedgehog songs are references to Terry Pratchett and his wonderful Discworld. For the curious, lyrics can be found here. Not for the easily offended. 

**Coming up Next**: the start of the school year, homework by the pound, Snape, much ado about Transfiguration, Weasleys galore, and an unfortunate incident in Potions. Probably. 

So you've just read the chapter, huh? Now what are you going to do? How about reviewing? Just click on the link below and tell me what you think. Good, bad, indifferent -- I want to know. :) 


	8. Recent History

**As Thick as Blood**

**Chapter Eight: Recent History**  
**Author: **Lisse   
**Author email: **lisse@schnoogle.com   
**Category: **angst/darkfic romance mystery   
**Keywords: **future post-Hogwarts children Rory Jim   
**Rating: **PG-13 br**Spoilers: **All the books   
**Summary: **Two decades after the defeat of Voldemort, a quartet of sixth-years known as the Four Musketeers continue the proud tradition of mischief and pranks at Hogwarts. But old wounds are not easily forgotten and a Death Eater's wounded pride can be deadly. The next generation has begun to discover that they may be the ones to pay the price for past victories. As Rory Malfoy, Jim Chang-Potter and their friends struggle to uncover truths their parents want buried forever, they learn that family is defined by more than blood -- and that some things are more powerful than any magic.   
**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Musketeers belong to themselves. Further disclaimers can be found at the end of the chapter.   
**A/N:** Thanks to Haggridd, for being a beta-reader extraordinaire and the king of apostrophes; to Fiat Incantatum, for putting up with ranting, misplaced ramen noodles, and late-night whackiness; and to Galya, for beautiful drawings and general mind-reading. 

~*~*~   
Chapter Eight: Recent History   
~*~*~ 

"Read all about it!" Lily chirped the minute the Musketeers set foot in the Great Hall the next morning. She thrust the newest issue of the _Daily Prophet _in Jim's face. He thought he caught a glimpse of purple before Maureen snatched it away, grumbling about perky fourth-years in general and Chang-Potters in particular. The usually upbeat Musketeer had woken up complaining of a splitting headache and a foul taste in her mouth. She had been absolute hell to live with, according to Rory. Jim had quickly concluded that Maureen had sampled one too many of Harriet's special butterbeers, although he was too tactful to say so. 

Brian had no such qualms. "It's your own fault," he said crossly as he retrieved the _Daily Prophet_ and laid it out on the Gryffindor table. After a moment his eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his fringe of unruly bangs. "Hey! The Snake's in the paper!" He glanced up at Lily, who had a huge grin on her face. "'Students Make Themselves Useful'?" 

"Let me see that." The paper was snatched up again, this time by Rory. She scanned the headline suspiciously, as if she expected it to say something different. "Skeeter can't have written this. It says my grandfather was verbally abusing Jim's parents and that..." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "'Even Hogwarts's students felt the need to side with an international hero, although perhaps they could have chosen a better way to display their support.' Wow. It talks about what the Snake said and everything. Apparently doing that to a flobberworm is illegal in three countries." 

Brian groaned. "It doesn't say anything about us, does it?" 

"No. The writer doesn't know who cast it." Rory folded up the paper and handed it back to Lily. "I'm impressed. Realistic reporting from the _Prophet_." 

"That's just because Skeeter didn't get her claws on it." Lily stuffed the paper in her bag and glanced at her watch. "You should eat fast. Class starts in twenty minutes." 

Jim didn't bother to point out that Lily was the reason why they hadn't even had a chance to sit down yet. It wouldn't do to antagonize her when she was actually in a good mood. His sister was perfectly nice most of the time, but she wasn't exactly a morning person. Instead he sat in one of the few empty chairs and helped himself to the porridge. 

"Why do you like that stuff?" Rory asked as she took the chair next to him. "It's like eating a bowl of paste." 

"Maybe I like paste." He poked at the porridge for a moment before glancing at Rory. She seemed determine to pretend that last night hadn't happened, but he knew from experience that ignoring stuff like that just wasn't healthy. Especially in Rory's case, as she tended to let little things build up until everything exploded at once. Rory exploding wasn't a pretty sight. 

"Are you okay?" he asked finally. 

"Of course I am!" she said, stabbing viciously at a piece of fruit with her knife. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" 

"You looked upset last night. And Laura said -- " 

Rory set down her knife on the table with a loud _thump_. "Laura has about as much sense as a headless chicken. You can't believe everything she says." 

"Do you want to talk about anything?" 

"As a matter of fact, no. I don't want to talk." Rory pushed away her plate, complete with the untouched fruit, and stood up so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over. "I have to get to class." 

That hadn't gone well at all. Jim reached out and grabbed her wrist, risking instant death -- or at least the "Malfoy Look." This time Rory just stopped and turned to face him, her expression frosty. "Listen to me," he said quietly. "I know you're upset about your mom, but that's no reason to take it out on everyone. I'm just trying to help. And I'm..." He fumbled for words. "I'm here for you, okay? We all are." 

Her face softened, ever so slightly. "I know." She pulled her wrist free of his grip, but she didn't make any move to leave the Great Hall. "Thank you." 

Just like that, the wall that had been slowly rising between them collapsed. "No problem." He smiled faintly. "Do you still want to go help Hammond with the first-years?" 

"Of course. I'll see you this afternoon." Rory gathered up her books, picked up the fruit almost as an afterthought, and hurried out of the Great Hall with a swirl of robes. 

"What was that all about?" Brian asked as he occupied Rory's now vacant seat. "You two looked like you were either about to kill each other or start snogging." 

Jim looked up sharply. "_What?_" 

"Reen was betting on the snogging," Brian continued as if he hadn't heard. "I think Tony was going for killing. I abstained, myself." 

"Wait. Back up." Jim held up his hands as if they could somehow slow Brian's train of thought. "Rory and I were _not_ about to snog. She was ready to bite my head off." 

"That's not the way it looked from over there." Brian nodded to Maureen, who managed to display one of her insufferably smug grins despite her headache, and to Tony, who gave Jim a genuinely sympathetic look. 

Jim covered his face with his hands. "Let me get this straight. Half of the sixth-years think that Rory and I are...you know?" He could feel his face burning. 

"Half? Try _all_." Brian patted him on the shoulder and smiled, not unkindly. "Aren't you glad you've got friends like me and Reen to straighten this mess out?" 

"Oh, yeah. I'm just thrilled." Jim pushed him up from the table and heaved his bookbag over his shoulder. "I have to go." 

"Class doesn't start for ten minutes," Brian pointed out. 

"I know. I'm going to see if Harriet has any of that butterbeer left." 

~*~*~ 

"Rory? Rory, wait!" 

_Wonderful. Just what I need._ Rory turned and neatly sidestepped just in time to keep Claude from plowing into her. The Slytherin caught himself against the nearest wall and flashed an embarrassed smile. "Heh. Sorry about that. I wasn't sure if you heard me." 

"I heard you just fine," Rory said coolly. 

"Whew. I thought maybe you were going to ignore me or something." 

"It crossed my mind." 

Claude winced. "Really? Damn. There's nothing worse than Rory Malfoy giving you the cold shoulder." 

Rory sighed, caught between exasperation and amusement. Amusement was winning out, unfortunately. "Is there something I can do for you?" 

"Yes. No. Maybe." Claude stopped, looking for all the world like an actor trying to remember a particularly difficult line. "Wait. Can I start again?" 

Rory tried not to smile, but she couldn't help it. She could feel her lip twitching, a sure sign that she was going to start chuckling any moment now. That wouldn't do at all, no matter how hopelessly lost Claude seemed to be. She settled for a smile. "Well? I'm waiting." 

"Sorry. Brain not working." Claude shook his head as if trying to rearrange his thoughts. "There we go." He looked down at her, his face suddenly serious. "There's nothing you can do for me. Wait. That didn't sound right either." While Rory covered her mouth to stifle an undignified laugh, he took a deep breath and went for attempt number three. "What I mean is, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I was completely out of line and you have every right to turn me into a purple toad if you see fit." 

Whatever Rory had been expecting, that wasn't it. She just stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words, before she managed to stammer out a reply. "Oh. Thank you." Then her mind caught up with her mouth. She was _thanking_ him? What in the name of the Founders' own mothers was she doing? _You stop that right now_, she told herself sternly. _You're Rory Malfoy, not some soppy fourth-year_. That thought firmly in place, she drew herself up to her full height and gave him a softened version of the "Look." "I might just turn you into a toad," she said finally. "And I think I'll make it a pink one." She reached for her wand. 

Claude took a hasty step back. "You're not serious, are you?" 

Rory smirked. "That's for me to know and you to spend the next week worrying about." She pointed her wand right at his chest. "You just watch your back, Claude Avery." 

"Did you know you're terrible at threats?" 

"Make that a pink toad with purple and orange spots. You'll blend right in with Trelawney's cushions." 

Claude's eyes widened in mock horror. "You wouldn't." 

"Oh?" Rory twitched the wand from side to side, enjoying herself immensely. Some part of her knew that in theory Claude was supposed to be groveling at her feet or something equally pathetic. Why that didn't seem to be happening was a complete mystery to her -- and strangely enough, she found that she liked this method much better. "What exactly are you going to do about it?" 

Claude shrugged. "That's for me to know and you to find out." He glanced around the hallway, which was rapidly emptying as students hurried to their first class. "Where are you off to now?" 

"Literature." 

"Ouch! Really?" When she nodded, he dropped into what he probably thought was an elegant bow. "May I offer milady an escort?" 

Rory smacked him with her wand. "Watch it, you." 

But she didn't refuse. 

~*~*~ 

There were advantages to taking advanced classes. Rory was sure of that. She remembered telling herself that when she had signed up for them last year. Unfortunately she was at a loss to remember exactly what those advantages were. Literature and History of Magic had been as dull as ever, and she had spent lunch polishing her essay for Double Transfiguration instead of eating anything. After spending far too long bent over a piece of parchment, trying desperately to keep up with Professor Weasley's lecture, she was more than happy to toss her books in her dormitory and hurry out into the brisk fall air. 

"Took you long enough," Jim said cheerfully as she set foot on the Quidditch pitch. Like her, he was wearing his red and gold scarf around his neck and had his hat jammed on his head. Somehow he managed to lend dignity to a uniform that made everyone else on the face of the earth look like an oversized black carrot. 

Rory rolled her eyes and jammed her own hat on her head in a vain effort to keep the wind from tangling her hair further. "Brian's mother let us out late. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that woman was a Ravenclaw!" 

"Nope. Gryffindor. That's why Snape hates her," he added as they started across the pitch. 

"I thought he hated her because of last year." 

Jim shrugged. "There's that," he conceded. 

"She called him 'a festering skrewt carcass'. In the middle of the Great Hall. To his face." 

"I'm sure he deserved it," Jim said airily. 

Rory pushed her scarf away from her face long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "I don't think _anyone_ deserves to be called a festering skrewt carcass." 

"What about 'a poncy git'?" 

"That wouldn't work either. Poncy gits aren't supposed to be greasy professors. They're supposed to be rich and full of themselves." 

"Like your family?" 

If Jim had been anyone else in the world, she would have hexed him. But he was Jim and for reasons Rory didn't fully understand he was allowed to say those things. She just laughed lightly. "Malfoys are aristocrats. We're supposed to be poncy gits." 

Jim just shook his head, trying and failing to contain a chuckle. "What about us Chang-Potters? What are we supposed to be?" 

Rory tilted her head to one side as if lost in thought. "Grandfather called you lot 'slime' once." 

"What did you do?" 

She favored him with her most angelic smile. "I threw my salad fork at him." 

"Ah. Much deadlier than your dinner fork, I'm sure." 

Rory smacked him on the shoulder. "Cut that out. Sarcasm doesn't suit you." 

He gave her an indignant look. "It can suit me if it wants to. I'll have you know that I can be very sarcastic." 

"Jim, fluffy baby owls are more sarcastic than you." 

"Thanks." His eyes twinkled with barely contained mirth. "I bet the professors missed that wit." 

"What did I tell you about sarcasm?" 

He just grinned and switched topics. "How was Literature?" 

"About as bad as History of Magic," Rory said with a grimace. She pulled a scrap of parchment out of her pocket and presented it to him with a flourish. "Behold the essay questions for _Rhiannon Rising_. Read them and weep." 

Jim scanned the parchment for a moment. "Please hex me now." 

"Don't tempt me." Rory made one last futile attempt to keep her scarf out of her face before giving up. "I can't believe Hammond is taking the first-years up in this wind." 

"That's why we're here." 

"True." Rory wasn't really complaining; she liked shepherding first-years around their brooms and as much as she hated to admit it, she rather liked flying. Her father had been a Seeker -- a good one, if her grandparents were to be believed -- but Rory's competitiveness had leaned more toward academics than Quidditch. The game always gave her a bit of a headache. That didn't mean she hated being on a broom, though. When Jim had told her last year that he and a few others on the Gryffindor team had volunteered to help Madame Hammond with the first-years, she had been more than happy to join him. 

Today some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were lined up beside their numbered brooms, their robes billowing in the wind. Extra brooms were piled off to the side, including two set aside for Rory and Jim. A few of the first-years gave them curious looks as they approached, but most had their eyes locked on their instructor, and for good reason. 

Madame Hammond was a short, wiry witch with sandy hair and clear brown eyes. She had been a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team many years ago, but the wounds she had received during the Burning of Hogsmeade had cost her a professional career. Even now, twenty years later, she still favored her right leg and held her left hand curled in front of her like a claw. Scars covered what had once been a very pretty face, giving her an appearance guaranteed to terrify any unprepared first-year. Her steely stare definitely didn't help matters. 

"Let me repeat myself," she was saying as she limped back and forth in front of the first-years. "I don't care how much your parents taught you. I don't care if you were the star of the Junior League and I really don't care how interested you are in showing off to your classmates. As of this moment, you will do exactly as I say -- no more, no less. Is that understood?" 

Most of the students nodded quickly. April Lynch looked downright rebellious and Rowena Mandelbaum seemed ready to argue the particulars, but even they quailed when Hammond rounded on them. It wasn't that she was mean -- not in that way that, say Snape was. She just made sure that everyone knew who was in charge. Added to that was the strange, ever-present bitterness etched in the lines on her prematurely aged face. If she had the courage, Rory would have asked her about her past. Maybe flying was Hammond's passion, but surely the loss of a potential Quidditch career wasn't enough to justify the pain that practically radiated from her. 

"Hold your wand hand over your broom," Hammond called. Rory grinned as she watched the first-years shuffle nervously into position. She glanced at Jim, who nodded in the direction of April and a few others. It was easy to tell who would get the hang of this just by watching how they approached their brooms. Sure enough, when they yelled "Up!" in unison, April's broom slammed into her hand. So did the others Jim had indicated. They waited patiently while Hammond helped their classmates until at last even plump little Agnes Nitt managed to get her stubborn broom to behave. 

Madame Hammond's expression softened slightly as she saw how quickly this particular class caught on. "Good. Stand next to your broom -- not like that, Miss Nitt -- and sit on it just like a chair. That's it. Go ahead." As she watched, the first-years settled themeselves on their brooms with varying degrees of confidence. 

Most of the first-years, anyway. Rowena Mandelbaum hadn't budged. 

Hammond gave her a long look. "Get on the broom." 

Rowena shook her head. "No." 

This seemed to take the Flying instructor aback. "You have to get on the broom," she said after a moment. "It's required. That's why they call this _Flying_ class. You fly." 

Another headshake. "Oh, no. I'm not getting on that thing. I'm afraid of grounds." 

Hammond frowned at her. "You mean heights." 

"No, I mean grounds. I don't care about heights. It's the grounds that kill you." 

"Can't argue with that logic," Jim murmured. Rory attempted to stifle a laugh, with little success. Rowena gave her a nasty look, which only made it harder to contain her mirth. After a moment the first-year shrugged with resignation and thrust the broom at Hammond. 

"I'm not riding it," she said simply. "I don't care if I fail. It isn't a safe broom." 

"What do you mean, it isn't a safe broom? I checked it myself. It's as safe as the others." Hammond glared at Rowena, who just glared right back. "Do you want me to send you to Professor Perseus?" 

Rowena paled, obviously terrified of being sent to the Head of Ravenclaw on the first day of classes, but then she rallied. "I'll go by myself," she said, dropping the broom on the ground, "but I'm not riding that." She held Hammond's gaze for a second longer before turning on her heel and stalking back toward the castle. 

Hammond sighed and climbed on her own broom. "Just as stubborn as her parents," she muttered under her breath. "Jim? Rory? Are you ready to keep watch?" 

Jim nodded and climbed onto one of the empty school brooms, kicking off with the grace and ease of a practiced Seeker. Instead of following him, Rory picked up Rowena's broom and turned it over and over. It was an old Cleansweep, outdated but certainly useable. She didn't understand why the little Ravenclaw had been so vehemently opposed to it. 

After a moment's further study, she shrugged and tossed the broom into the pile of spares before following Jim and Hammond up into the sky, wand at the ready to catch any inexperienced first-years. 

Rowena stood by the castle wall and watched. Rory didn't have to be near her to see the fear in her face -- and to wonder why the very idea of flying had produced such an extreme reaction. 

~*~*~ 

The strange sight was still on her mind later that night, when she joined the other Musketeers in taking over the stuffed chairs around the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. While she, Jim and Brian waded through the homework they had put off all summer, Maureen tossed a tiny, squishy ball up and down, occasionally taking the time to throw it at one of her companions. It was modeled after a Quaffle, but had been charmed it to spout off unkind -- and occasionally vulgar -- comments about whomever Maureen happened to lob it at. Rory was used to being subjected to her friend's favorite toy and quite easily ignored it as it commented on her tangled hair, complete lack of any figure whatsoever, and terrible taste in clothes. 

"This from the girl who lives in old Quidditch jerseys and sweatpants," Brian muttered after the talking Quaffle informed him that his sweater looked like an oversized banana peel. 

Maureen shrugged. "I don't care how I look, that's all." 

"That's why you cropped your Wasps jersey up to _here_." Rory waved her hand across her midriff. 

Brian smirked at her. "Wasn't that the time your dad introduced you to Dylan Washington?" 

"Washington's a prat," Maureen muttered, sinking down in her chair. "It's just no one bothered to tell me that." But she didn't throw the talking Quaffle anymore. 

Rory just shook her head in silent amusement and began to gather up her books. "I'll see you later," she said as she stood up. 

"Where are you off to?" Maureen asked, embarrassment momentarily forgotten. 

"I'm going to go work on my essay for Magical and Muggle Philosophy. It's due in two days and I still don't understand how I'm supposed to compare Xeno and Aristotle, much less talk about that 'quintessence' junk." 

"I didn't understand a word of that." 

"You wouldn't," Brian muttered from the depths of his Arithmancy book. "You're an uncultured heathen with a talking red ball." 

"And proud of it, too." Maureen grinned at Rory. "With whom are you studying now, Miss Prefect?" 

"Maybe she's studying with Lionel Lynch," Jim said with a chuckle. Rory was practically the only girl at Hogwarts who didn't swoon every time the Hufflepuff captain looked at her. 

She wasn't afraid to say so, either. "Lionel Lynch couldn't find his own rear end with a map." Rory added her half-finished essay to her pile of books. "I'm meeting Claude Avery in the Astronomy tower, if you must know." 

Three jaws hit the floor. 

"You're going to the _Astronomy tower?_" Maureen finally managed to stammer. "With _Claude?_" 

"Where else would I go?" Rory asked impatiently. "Pince practically barred all of us from the library after that turtle incident, there's no more empty classrooms with all the first-years running around, and I'm not setting foot in Claude's Common Room if I can help it. What's the matter with you?" 

Brian held up one hand, fingers spread wide. "Astronomy. Tower. You. Claude." With each word he dropped a finger until just one was left. He gave Rory a long look as he lowered finger number five. "Snog." 

Rory glared at him. "Claude and I are _not_ going to snog." 

"Uh huh. Right. Claude's the one who suggested meeting there, wasn't he?" 

"He couldn't exactly come in here without people ripping his head off." 

Maureen shrugged and tossed her talking Quaffle from hand to hand, her familiar smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I understand, you know. He's definitely shaggable." 

Jim turned a very dark shade of red. "Reen!" 

"What? I'm just saying. I've got eyes, haven't I? He's no Hunter Thomas, but he's not bad for a Slytherin." She gave Rory a stern look. "Don't you go do anything stupid, young lady. Not unless you promise to tell me all the gory details." 

Now it was Brian's turn to turn red. "_Reen!_" 

Rory closed her eyes and counted to ten. _Strangling her is not an option. Strangling her is not an option. _"No one is going to be snogging or shagging anyone. He just knows more about Xeno's philosophies, that's all. If he touches me, I'll turn him into a fuzzy blue rabbit and hand him over to Filch." 

Jim frowned at her. "Promise?" 

Rory put her hand over her heart. "I solemnly swear that I will neither snog nor shag Claude Avery." She flashed her most winning smile at Jim. "On my honor as a Musketeer. Deal?" 

"Deal," Jim said reluctantly. "But we're waiting up for you, aren't we?" He nudged the other two Musketeers. 

Brian nodded. "Sure we are." Maureen just made a half-hearted attempt to salute. 

_Ten Galleons to a bent Knut says they're snoring in an hour_. Smiling to herself, Rory returned Maureen's salute and headed off for the Astronomy tower. 

It wasn't particularly hard to avoid Argus Filch, Hogwarts's caretaker and the enemy of two generations of nocturnal wanderers. Rumor had it that he had once employed a cat to help him spy, but thankfully he was now left to his own devices. Rory had an easier time than most of her fellow students, partly because of her adventures with the Musketeers and partly because years of dodging banal social functions had taught her the need to tread softly. Even though she was laden down with books, it took only a short time for her to make her way to the tower. 

Claude was already waiting for her. She slipped into the tower's lower room with its rows and rows of bookshelves and cupboards, glancing momentarily up at the trapdoor that led to the observation deck. "No one's up there?" 

"No one that I could hear. Miracles happen." Claude held up a stack of slim volumes. "Ready to philosophize?" 

"Do I have a choice?" Rory dropped her own books on the floor and sat down beside him. "How many inches do you still need?" 

"Seven. You?" 

"Five." She held up her parchment. "I've already covered almost everything. I don't see what else I can add." 

"Neither do I," Claude said as he finished scanning her essay. "Your handwriting's much smaller than mine, too." 

"We'll figure something out. We're overachieving prefects, right?" She flipped through one of the larger books until she found a dog-eared page. "I don't understand all this about magic as a separate philosophy. I thought there wasn't much of a difference between Muggles and Wizards in ancient Greece." 

Claude peered at the relevant passages for a moment. "I was kind of hoping you would know what's going on." 

"You didn't understand a word Xeno was saying, did you?" 

"Not really. I just kind of said he falls into the 'life happens' category." 

"That's not exactly helpful." 

Claude shrugged. "What did you expect? He probably went around saying 'I am a pompous Greek thinker in a toga. All give me free food and bow before my thinkness.'" 

Rory blinked. "Thinkness isn't a word." 

"Sure it is. Thinkness. To think. To be thinky. We're being thinky right now." 

"I'm not thinky," Rory said firmly. "It sounds obscene." 

"You're talking about philosophy, aren't you? You're thinking. So you're being thinky." 

"You get kicked out of your dorm a lot, don't you?" 

Claude stopped mid-speech. "How did you know?" 

Rory crossed her arms and smirked. "I'm psychic." 

"That's impressive." 

"At least something here is." 

Claude threw a book at her. 

"Hey!" Rory dodged the projectile. Her hands closed on a good-sized book to retaliate with and she tossed it. Claude ducked and the book sailed over his head, rebounding off an enormous cupboard and landing in a pile of broken telescopes with a resounding crash. 

"Who's there?" 

Rory stopped with another book at ready. "Did you say something?" 

Claude shook his head. "Wasn't me." He looked up at the trapdoor, a mixture of horror and fascination crossing his face. "You don't think someone really _is_ shagging up there, do you?" 

Rory elbowed him. "Why are boys obsessed with shagging?" 

"One guess." 

"Don't make me hex you." 

"I'd like to see you try." 

"Hello?" 

Rory froze. _Damnit!_ She stared at Claude, who raised his eyes to the trapdoor again. "Hello yourself!" he called. "Need some company up there?" 

The trapdoor flew open. A set of feet came into view, followed closely by a fully clothed body and finally by a very grumpy-looking face. It was Paula Diggory, complete with a large quill and an even larger roll of parchment covered with complicated notes. She glanced at both Rory and Claude before heaving a put-upon sigh. "Can't I get one night's work done without feeling like I'm eavesdropping on a brothel?" 

"We were studying philosophy!" Claude protested, his composure vanishing. "See? Phil-o-so-phy! You know, guys in togas? Deep meaning of life? We think, therefore we am?" 

"Are," Paula corrected automatically. She crossed her arms. "Do you have a note?" 

Rory held out her empty hands palm-up. "Not as such. We're just being thinky." She gave the Head Girl an innocent look. "What are _you_ doing here?" 

"Working on my Astronomy project for Professor Perseus. _I_ have a note," she added reproachfully, holding out a slip of paper as proof. "You realize that I'll have to report this to the heads of your houses." 

Claude let out a disgusted snort. "What? Couldn't you ignore it just once?" 

"You know the rules. No student can be out of their Common Room at night without permission from a -- hey!" 

Rory glanced at Claude just in time to see his hand dart behind his back. He smirked at Paula, who was no longer holding her note, and just held out his now-empty hands as he braved the wrath of the Head Girl. 

"Give me that note!" Paula demanded. 

Claude flashed a toothy smile. "What note? I don't see any note." 

"Do you want me to take twenty points from Slytherin?" 

"Wouldn't matter much, seeing as how we're going to win. But I _know_ you don't want Filch to report you. Hufflepuff can't exactly afford to lose any points after last year. How much did you miss first place by? Two hundred fifty, wasn't it?" 

Paula was silent for a moment, apparently at a loss. Then her eyes narrowed and she reached for her wand. Rory took a step back as it belatedly dawned on her that maybe that whole Hufflepuff-as-pushover stereotype wasn't entirely true. 

There was a scraping sound from behind the door, like a foot moving against a stair. 

"Here comes Filch," Claude commented, sounding for all the world like he was reciting from a rather boring book. 

Rory glared at both Slytherin and Hufflepuff, not particularly caring who was at fault here. She just began to gather up her parchment and books. "Hurry up!" she hissed. "We have to hide these!" 

Both Claude and Paula sprang into action, shoving the incriminating school supplies into the nearest box. As they scrambled around, Rory scanned the room for a place to hide. Her eyes fell on the big cupboard. Maybe, if they all squeezed... 

Paula seemed to have the same idea. "In here. Hurry!" She pushed Rory and Claude into the cupboard, right on top of old measuring equipment and crumbling charts, and climbed in after them, slamming the door behind her. 

Just in time, too. Even as Rory twisted so that Paula's elbow wasn't in her eye, she heard the sound of voices. Lots of voices. She couldn't understand exactly what they were saying, but she could tell that not one of them belonged to Filch. From the way Paula stiffened and Claude drew in a sharp breath, they had also noticed. 

"I already told you," someone was saying. _Professor Perseus_, Rory realized. She hadn't had many classes with him, but she had been on the receiving end of his reprimands more than once. "Quite a lot of peculiar things are happening right now. I've tried speaking with the centaurs, but they aren't exactly on good terms with us right now." 

"You can't get any readings _at all_?" Professor Weasley's voice was much more distinct. Rory would have recognized it anywhere. "They're _stars_, not fireflies. They don't exactly move around." 

"It's more complicated than that." Perseus sounded extremely stressed, and more than a little worried. "I know what the charts _mean_, but they don't make any sense. Look at this." There was the crinkling sound of someone smoothing out a crumpled piece of parchment. "These are from last night, and _these --_ " more crinkling -- "were drawn by my predecessor." 

There was a long silence. Then Professor Sprout spoke slowly. "Are these dates right?" Rory wasn't sure, but she thought the head of Hufflepuff sounded uneasy. 

"They're exactly right, unfortunately. That's why I showed these to you. I hope you don't mind me hauling all of you up here this late?" 

"Not at all," Professor Weasley said. Then her voice changed, becoming crisp and commanding -- and not a little concerned. "From what I've been able to gather from Sinistra's records, these particular conjunctions are very rare. I'll owl the University, of course, but I think they'll tell us exactly the same thing. I don't like this," she continued as she drew closer to the cupboard. "It's not just the stars. Why are the wards going down? They don't have an expiration date. They shouldn't be flickering like that -- " 

"-- And that flickering has nothing to do with sloppy spellcasting, of course." Snape was as cold and sarcastic as ever. 

"I cast them myself, Severus," Professor Weasley snapped. Then she blew out a long sigh. "Ron's been having dreams again. I know Divination isn't an exact science, but he says he feels danger and given his record, I'm inclined to believe him." 

"Perfectly understandable." The Headmistress's words were clipped and precise. 

"The last time he had dreams like these, we had a resurgence of dark magic. We weren't in time to stop it then. We should have acted." There was a long pause. "I will not have another death on my conscience, Minerva. I just won't." 

The Headmistress sighed. "This is about Rory, isn't it?" 

"Of course it is! Look at how much she lost the last time this happened. It's bad enough knowing that I can't tell her anything, but..." She trailed off helplessly. "I haven't even held her since she was a baby and I just have to watch her grow up from a distance. It's so frustrating." 

"It's better that she doesn't know." Professor Lupin's quiet voice somehow carried all the way to the cupboard without the slightest difficulty. "You know that more than anyone." 

Rory felt someone's hand squeeze her own. Claude's, she guessed. She pulled away as quickly as she dared and strained to hear what else was being said. She couldn't possibly have understood Brian's mother correctly. She hadn't even _met_ Professor Weasley before arriving at Hogwarts. 

Had she? 

"What precisely are you suggesting we do about it?" Sprout asked. "I'll summon the others if you think that's necessary." 

"It's not. There's no need to worry the others. You wouldn't be here yourself, Payton, if you hadn't been the one who discovered this. It was before your time." 

Professor Perseus didn't sound very happy. "I _was _seven years old." 

"I was twice your age." 

"And both of you were still children," McGonagall snapped. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, but until any more evidence is found, we'll keep it to ourselves. Is that understood?" 

"Perfectly." Brian's mother must have realized how sharp her voice was, because a moment later it softened. "I'll clean up the charts. The rest of you should get some sleep." 

There were more footsteps as some of the professors filed out. Not all of them, though; Rory could hear movement just outside of the cupboard. In the darkness she couldn't see Claude or Paula, but she silently begged them not to make a sound. If Professor Weasley was out there... 

"You're going to owl Harry, aren't you?" It was Lupin, and there was more than a little reproach in his voice. 

"Wouldn't you? This is serious, Remus. You saw those charts." 

"This isn't just about him." It wasn't a question. 

"What if I don't do something? What if that means Rory dies too? If I hadn't promised Malfoy..." She trailed off, suddenly sounding very helpless and very lost. "She looks just like him, you know. Just like him." 

"She doesn't act like him," Lupin pointed out. 

"Yes, she does. It's creepy. Sometimes I think if I had just been able to talk to her when she was little, I could have done something." 

Claude's hand found Rory's again. This time she let him hold it. She was so angry she couldn't see straight. What right did Professor Weasley have to talk about her father like that? Yes, they were around the same age, but as far as Rory knew, they had barely known each other. They had been in different houses and everything. 

For a long moment Lupin said nothing. When he spoke again, he sounded old and tired. "You should owl Harry before morning. Good night." 

He walked out of the Astronomy tower. A moment later there was the sound of parchment rustling and a soft thud, as if Brian's mother had thrown something against the wall. Then she followed Lupin and the room fell silent. 

Only then did Rory push open the cupboard doors and stumble out. She gathered up her books as quickly as she dared, not daring to meet Claude's eyes. Paula opened her mouth as if she intended to say something, but no words emerged. She just sighed and looked away. 

"I want to see what charts they were looking at," Claude said suddenly. Even though he was whispering, his voice sounded loud in the confines of the tower. He walked over to the crumpled chart Professor Weasley had thrown at the wall and smoothed it out. A frown furrowed his brow as he scanned it. "I don't see what's so special about this. I've seen stranger charts." 

"Let me see that." Rory snatched the chart away with her free hand and glanced at the upper corner, where someone had scrawled the date in a tiny, crab-like script. "May 30, 1994. What's so special about that?" 

Paula took a step forward, closing the distance between her and Rory in one quick stride. She grabbed the chart, folded it, and pocketed it without saying a word. Normally Rory would have demanded to know what was going on, but something about the Hufflepuff's expression suggested that any questions would be unwelcome. 

"Let me guess," Claude said quietly. "That was the year You-Know-Who rose again." 

"I don't care about You-Know-Who," Paula spat. She glared at Claude. "Give me my note back or you'll spend the rest of your life as a newt!" 

Claude wordlessly handed over the pilfered note. He didn't seem at all startled by Paula's odd behavior; instead he looked thoughtful, as if she was a puzzle he had to solve. Only when she had started for the door did he speak. "That was the day your brother died, wasn't it?" 

Paula rounded on him, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I don't want to see you out of your room after supper again. _Ever_." 

"Or what?" Claude asked. "You didn't march out of that cupboard and turn us in, did you? You wanted to know what was going on just like everybody else." 

"This actually concerns me. It has nothing to do with you." 

"If it has to do with Rory, it has to do with me." 

Rory had had enough. "If it has to do with me, then it has to do with _me_. Period. End of story. I don't need anyone else involving themselves." She tightened her grip on her parchment and books, mostly to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. If she allowed herself to think about what Brian's mother had said, she was going to break down completely. "If you'll excuse me. I have to get back to my dorm." 

Claude turned to look at her. Paula was apparently forgotten as his strange thoughtfulness was replaced by concern. "Do you want me to walk you back?" 

"No." She spun on her heel and stalked out of the tower, feeling Claude's eyes on her and trying to tell herself that she didn't care. 

The Common Room was dark and empty when she returned. It must have been very late indeed if even the more boistrous seventh-years were in bed. Rory didn't even glance at the clock. She didn't want to know what time it was. 

"Are you okay?" 

She spun around, relaxing only when she saw Jim rise from one of the chairs by the fire. Somehow she had missed seeing him. He wasn't even in his pajamas. "Did you wait up for me?" she asked softly. 

"I said I was going to." He scanned her face, a frown furrowing his brow as he noted signs she had not been able to hide. "You're not okay, are you?" 

"I'm fine," she said crisply. "There's nothing for you to worry about. I just need to sleep." 

Jim took a step forward. "Rory, what happened?" 

"Nothing," she said a little too quickly. Without waiting for his answer, she breezed past him and took the stairs up to her dormitory two at a time. She half expected him to call after her, but he didn't. He didn't say a word. 

Only after she had changed into her Chudley Cannons shirt and collapsed on her bed, her thoughts jumbled and swirling, did she finally register the expression that had flashed across Jim's face. One would have thought she had slugged him in the stomach. 

Rory shook her head. There weren't many ways to interpret her words, especially when she snapped them like that. Jim was bright. He would figure it out. 

~*~*~ 

"I'm impressed," observed Brian as he and Jim made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. "I didn't even know it was possible to wrinkle a vest that much." 

Jim shrugged. "I guess." 

"Did you even go to bed last night?" 

"I slept." 

"Where?" 

"In the Common Room." 

"Ah." Brian waved quickly to Anastasia Krum over at the Ravenclaw table before wrenching his attention back to Jim, obviously with a great deal of effort. "This has something to do with Rory and Claude, doesn't it?" 

Jim didn't know how to answer that. He settled for another shrug. 

"For what it's worth," Brian said as he flopped into his seat, "I think we should ambush Claude and introduce him to some nasty curses." 

Jim lifted his eyes from the table. "Are you actually going to do that?" 

"No." 

"Why not?" 

"Because Rory wouldn't do anything stupid, and she wouldn't let Claude try anything. Remember when Flint tried to corner her at the Yule Ball when we were fifth-years?" 

Jim had to smile fondly at the memory. "I think she still claims he broke his own shin." 

"It was his fault," Brian said around a mouthful of muffin. "Stupid Slytherin." 

_Speaking of which._ "I don't get it. What does she see in him?" Jim frowned at the Slytherin table in general and Claude in particular. "I mean, it's not as if he's all that handsome. He's kind of bulky. Girls don't like bulky, do they?" 

Brian shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm not a girl." He held out a tray of toast. "Breakfast?" When Jim shook his head, he passed the tray on and gave his fellow Musketeer a genuinely sympathetic look. "Look, I know you like Rory too, but -- " 

Jim choked on his pumpkin juice. "I do not like Rory!" he managed to gasp out between coughs. "I mean I do, but not like that. She's my best friend!" 

"Uh huh. _And_ you fancy her." 

"I do not." 

"Do too." 

"Do not!" 

"Do too." 

"Do what?" 

There was no mistaking Rory's voice. Jim covered his face with his hands and sank down in his seat. _Why doesn't the earth open up and swallow you when you need it to?_

Rory glanced at Brian. "What's with him?" 

"Something he ate," Brian said innocently. "So what did you and Claude do last night?" 

Jim kicked him under the table. He was ignored, of course. 

Rory shrugged. "Not much." As far as Jim could tell, she was completely offhand and casual, with no hidden depths and no added meaning. She had pushed last night down deep into her subconscious, it seemed, just like the night before that and all the times when something had upset her equilibrium. It was dangerous, balancing like that. It was too easy to fall into the abyss. 

He just had no idea how to make her see that. 

"We all have Potions together this afternoon," Maureen was saying, apparently oblivious to the goings-on around her. "I saw we all meet for lunch and a plotting session." 

Brian nodded. "Works for me. I have to go sleep through History of Magic now." 

"I have to go wrestle plants," Maureen retorted. She pointed first at Rory, then at Jim with her fork. "Where are you two off to?" 

"Modern Magical History," Jim said. "It's on the other side of the castle. We should probably get going." 

As if moved to action by his words, students began to drift toward the doors, muttering about classes and homework. Jim allowed himself to be swept up in the crowd, easily navigating by means of being a head taller than everyone else. Rory followed him, paging through one of her notebooks as she went. It wasn't so much that people got out of her way as that they just found themselves walking where she wasn't. She assumed that no one would impede, so no one did. It was like a battle of wills, only Jim was almost certain that his friend had no idea what she was doing. 

_That's right_, he told himself. _She's my friend. I don't like her in that way. I care what happens to her, but I don't want to kiss her or anything_. For some reason that thought made him want to look anywhere but Rory, a difficult task when they were both going to the same place. It was a relief to finally enter the tiny classroom with its single table and slide into a seat. Then he could just stare at his other classmates instead. 

One of those classmates was Claude Avery. Jim wondered what he had done to deserve this kind of luck. 

He was saved from saying anything he might have regretted by the arrival of whom he could only assume was their professor. The witch who walked in was surely not old enough to be out of Hogwarts, much less old enough to teach. She was young and very beautiful, with silver hair that just brushed her shoulders and very clear blue eyes that swept across the small classroom as if recording every detail for future analysis. Her robes were open, revealing a loose blue shirt and the wide-legged black pants that Jim had sometimes seen his mother wear to informal parties. She looked more like a model for _Young Witch_ than a professor. 

"Welcome to Modern Magical History," she said without preamble. Her voice had traces of an accent, although it was so faint that Jim was at a loss to place it. "I am Professor Delacour. Some of you may have heard that you can call me Gabrielle. The first person to call me that will be serving detention for a month, preferably while wearing Mr. Filch's irons. Those of you who are expecting an easy class are advised to leave now and save yourselves a great deal of embarrassment. Any takers? No? We'll see." 

She stepped in front of the blackboard as the chalk rose into the air behind her, ready to illustrate key points of her lecture. "The history of magic, contrary to popular belief, is _not_ kings and dates and battles. I'm not interested in that kind of history. I'm interested in cause and effect. I want to understand the world we're living in now, at this moment. This requires us to study a number of subjects that some of you might find painful." She smiled humorlessly. "There is a belief among many of your professors that the less you know about recent history, the better. I do not subscribe to that particular belief. The best way to prevent tragedy is to learn from tragedy. The best way to stop evil is to learn how evil comes to power in the first place. These are the lessons that modern magical history can teach us." 

Her eyes swept the room again, resting on each student in turn. "This course covers the period of time between 1995 and 2005. You will learn about war and death in their most horrible forms -- not to satisfy any morbid curiosity, but because I want you to understand what it was like to live through that era. I want you to know what it was like to be a fighter on the Pitch, a resident of Hogsmeade during the Burning, or a student here during the Siege. Make no mistake. Those were hard times. Many of you lost family to You-Know-Who and his followers. I believe that is one of the reasons why all of you are taking this course. 

"For example, Mr. Avery's aunt Mirabelle was among those Slytherins who were murdered for choosing to defy the supposed Heir to their house. Mr. Banting and Miss Longbottom are both children of Siege veterans. Miss Adenuga's father was the leader of the African Aurors' Coalition. Miss al-Mannai's mother died defending Diagon Alley. As for Mr. Chang-Potter..." She smiled faintly. "If there is anyone here who _doesn't_ know about Mr. Chang-Potter's family, I suggest you crawl out of whatever hole you've been living in for the past forty years and find the nearest copy of _Modern Magical Names of Our Time._" 

There were a few chuckles at this. Jim just kept his eyes on his parchment, his face flaming, and hoped that the professor would move on. 

After a few moments she did just that. "It is necessary to understand _why_ we hold your relatives in such high regard, especially when you yourself have no context in which to -- yes, Miss Malfoy?" 

Rory lowered her hand and gave the professor an unreadable look. "You forgot my father." 

Professor Delacour seemed to freeze, clearly taken aback. "Your father?" she echoed. 

"Draco Thomas Malfoy. Class of 1998. Slytherin prefect. Seeker. Murdered by the Killing Curse. I'm sure you've heard of him." 

The professor seemed to recover herself. "Yes, Miss Malfoy. I have heard of him. If you wish to discuss the matter with me after class, I would be more than happy to accomodate you." 

Rory shook her head. Her eyes were chips of stone. "You didn't have a problem telling everyone else's family history. Let's hear mine." 

"Miss Malfoy, this is neither the time nor the place -- " 

Rory's words were curt and cold. "This _is_ the special elective in Modern Magical History, is it not? This is _precisely_ the time and the place to discuss these matters. Tell me now." 

"Very well, Miss Malfoy." Professor Delacour dropped her eyes to her desk for a moment. When she lifted them again, they were strangely bright. "Your father was a Death Eater." 

No one spoke. In the utter silence it was possible to hear Rory's soft intake of breath. Jim recognized the sudden pallor on her face, broken only by the red spots that appeared on her cheeks, and he knew that her reaction was not shock, but anger. Rory was furious. He reached out to touch her arm, but she jerked away from him. Her hard stare never left Professor Delacour, who simply watched her with an expression that held regret and not a little sympathy. 

"Was it ever proved?" Claude asked suddenly. His voice broke the spell that had descended on the classroom. The other students exchanged uneasy glances. Michael Banting actually began to scoot his chair away from Rory, only to be stopped by Ife's glare. 

Professor Delacour shook her head. "No, Mr. Avery. It was never proved." 

Again there was an uneasy silence. The shared, unspoken words hung heavy in the air. _Why bother to prove what everyone already knows?_

Jim caught Claude's eye and for once found himself sympathizing with the other boy. Ife threw a pleading look in his direction, as if begging him to say something. 

Before he could open his mouth, Rory rose from her seat and rested her hands flat on the table. She leaned forward, an inquisitor about to interrogate a guilty prisoner. The air around her actually seemed to grow colder. "Explain something to me, _Professor_." She made the honorific a slur. "My father was murdered. Aside from the fact that my family has an unjustified reputation, where is the proof that he had anything to do with the Dark Arts?" 

Professor Delacour pressed her lips into a thin line, obviously considering her next words carefully. She hadn't backed down from Rory's infamous stare, an achievement few others in the room could match. "You _are_ the one who insisted I tell you here and now, Miss Malfoy." She shrugged helplessly. "I think you could learn more if you asked your grandparents. They were the ones who testified against him." 

There should have been some kind of reaction, an outburst or a passionate denial - any reaction at all. Instead Rory just nodded once, gathered up her books, and walked out of the room. Jim stood up and hurried after her. Behind him he heard another chair scrape back and Professor Delacour say quietly, "No, Mr. Avery." Despite everything, that gave him a strange, perverse sense of satisfaction. 

Rory was halfway down the hallway before he caught up with her. She must have heard him coming, but she didn't even slow until he grabbed her arm. Then she just stopped in her tracks. He was forced to circle around her until he could see her face. The red spots on her cheeks had faded, replaced by a white, almost bloodless complexion that was abnormal even for her, pale though she usually was. She lifted her eyes to meet his. For a moment it seemed like the cold stone was nothing more than a gray mist cloaking red fire. 

"Don't tell me my father wasn't a Death Eater," she said before he could speak. "We don't know that." 

Jim stared at her. "But earlier you said -- " 

"I know what I said." Rory's mouth curved into a humorless smile. "That's the beauty of it. I don't know. I really don't know." 

"Then why did you say all that?" Jim asked, utterly confused. "Even if your dad was a Death Eater, no one would hold it against you. Look at Elsie Lestrange. Look at Claude, for Godric's sake!" 

"Elsie and Claude aren't Gryffindors, are they?" 

Jim firmly told himself that bludgeoning sense into Rory wasn't an option. "Listen to me," he said in what he could only hope was a civil voice. "No one cares. You're a great person." 

"I'm a Malfoy," Rory retorted. "Malfoys belong in Slytherin. Malfoys practice the Dark Arts. That's what everyone believes." 

"Maybe they wouldn't if you didn't keep bringing it up!" 

"So now this is my fault?" Rory raised an eyebrow and as she did, the now-familiar mask settled smoothly into place. Her walls were going up again, but this time Jim instinctively knew that he had been placed outside of them. 

He couldn't let that happen. "Rory, listen to me. Nothing your parents did is your fault, okay?" 

"That's easy for you to say. How many fawning morons did your father have to fight off today?" 

Jim took a step back. "That's not fair." 

"Life's not fair." 

"It doesn't have to be that way." He took a deep breath and tried one last time. "Maybe your dad _was_ a Death Eater. What does it matter? He's not you, is he?" 

Rory was silent for a long moment. "I wanted to have a hero too," she whispered, and before he could stop her, she turned and stalked down the hall. This time he knew better than to chase after her. 

~*~*~ 

**Further Disclaimers:**One line of dialogue from this chapter was borrowed from Joss Whedon's _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. Two lines of dialogue were borrowed from Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. One line of dialogue was borrowed from the movie _10 Things I Hate About You_. If anyone is interested in knowing the exact location of the lines, feel free to email me. Agnes Nitt and Xeno the philosopher are based on characters of the same name from Terry Pratchett's novels; I didn't create them and I take no credit for them.   
**Thanks to: **AB, bertie, Borgin, Brian, Emi-Chan, Frangelicah, Gilles+Couscous Girl, Ginny Potter, hal, johistar, John Shield, Kristen, MistWalker, Narcissa Malfoy, Okaydokey, Rin of Ksilver, Rowena, Quinn, Ted Hsu, tess, Woman of the Dunedain, and everyone else who reviewed Chapter Seven. I'm sorry if I missed anyone, especially on the Schnoogle boards. EZBoards ate many of my reviews.   
**Up Next: **More trouble with broomsticks, a split in the Musketeers' ranks, angst, drama, and a secret comes to light. 


	9. Broken Ranks

Lisse hbdv7p97xjxywvf2jcgc8xwp8 16 379 2002-06-16T17:20:00Z 2002-08-29T19:50:00Z 23 7131 40651 338 81 49922 9.2720 Print 

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The Musketeers belong to themselves. Any further disclaimers can be found at the end of the chapter.   
**A/N:** Thanks to my beta-reader Haggridd for much-needed author-prodding; to Fiat Incantatum and all the Muses for being the funniest and most supportive bunch this side of the Internet; to Miss Cora for putting up with rambling and late-night visits; to Galya for the kick-arse pics; and to the members of the Bloodlines mailing list and all my reviewers for mucho patience. 

  
**~*~*~ **  
**Chapter Nine: Broken Ranks **  
**~*~*~**

By the time students began to file into the Great Hall for lunch, everyone knew that _something_ had happened between Rory Malfoy and Jim Chang-Potter. No one could say exactly what, of course, and since both combatants stubbornly refused to reveal either the reason for or the nature of their confrontation, inquiring minds were left to speculate. And speculate they did, abandoning their sandwiches and goblets of pumpkin juice in favor of the latest gossip. They didn't bother to keep their voices down, either. 

"It was bound to happen," Jason Anderson said self-importantly in a voice that carried up and down the Gryffindor table. "Everybody knows friendships between people _that_ different don't last." 

Cara Liveright gave him a withering look. "Maybe they just got up on the wrong side of the bed." 

"Nope. You're both wrong." Leah Harris waved her fork as she spoke, as if she was planning to illustrate her theory with a piece of silverware. "It's sexual tension," she said with a knowing smirk. "Everyone with eyes and ears knows those two want to shag each other's brains out." 

Harriet Black glared at her fellow seventh-years. "Could you be a little _louder?_ I think there's a student at Beauxbatons who didn't hear you. Honestly!" She returned to her issue of _Weekly Wizarding News_, leaving Cara and Leah to exchange chagrined looks. Jason started to open his mouth, only to find himself on the receiving end of Cara's elbow. He was silent after that. 

Even with the older students properly chastised, there were still the younger gossips to deal with. Lily and her best friend Annika Weasley were the worst of the lot, attempting to recreate a screaming match that Jim was certain had never happened. Tim Jordan found this enthralling, prompting him to dub his sandwich halves "Rory" and "Jim", and make them fight each other. Sandwich-Rory seemed to be winning at the moment, although Sandwich-Jim was staging a comeback. The first-years were watching avidly, occasionally placing Knut bets with the Unit. 

Jim just kept his eyes fixed on his own sandwich -- which, thankfully, was content to be an inoffensive stack of soggy bread and corned beef. "Make them stop it," he muttered, not caring how petulant he sounded. 

Maureen just shrugged. "It wouldn't do any good. They'll just start up again later." She propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward slightly, studying Jim's face. "No offense, but I can't really blame them. You and Rory having a fight is a sign of the Apocalypse." 

"Where _is_ Rory?" Ife Adenuga asked. She was sitting next to Maureen, almost directly across from Jim. She was also the only non-Musketeer Gryffindor who wasn't having a field day with the Incident With Rory – probably because she had been there when the whole fiasco had started. "While we're at it, where's Brian?" 

"Rory didn't come down to lunch and Brian went to find her." Maureen glanced at the Great Hall's doors, her mouth thinning into a line. "He's being a bit of a prat – won't admit that Rory overreacted." 

"Well, can you blame her?" Ife asked softly. "I can't imagine finding out that my father was a Death Eater. It would kill me." 

Maureen shook her head. "That didn't mean she had to snap at Jim," she said. "He doesn't take snapping well, especially when he was just trying to help." 

"'He' is sitting right here," Jim pointed out. He wished he hadn't told Reen about the argument with Rory, especially not with Ife trying to interrogate him. Still, maybe it wouldn't do any harm. He had left out the more private bits – those things that belonged only within the confines of the Musketeers' tight circle – and it wasn't as if Ife was completely in the dark. She _had_ overheard Rory's argument with Professor Delacour, after all. 

The two witches glanced at each other. "Couldn't you ask your parents?" Ife asked finally, her dark eyes locked on Jim's face. "They're Aurors, right? Wouldn't they know?" 

Jim just heaved a sigh. Although Ife and her family were as wealthy and pureblooded as they came, they were also Yoruba and recent arrivals from Abuja, in Nigeria. The complex relationships among the English magical families were completely lost on them. They didn't know which topics were off-limits, which families had detested each other for centuries, and which topics were off-limits. "My parents don't really like the Malfoys," he said simply, because it was easier than going into gory details. "I'd rather not ask them." 

"What about my father, then? He doesn't have as many connections, but he could probably – " 

"Don't." Jim held up his hands, silently pleading with her not to push the issue. He didn't think Rory needed to hear about her father's crimes through Ife's father, if indeed she needed to hear about them at all. He had it on good authority that Daren Adenuga had once openly accused Lucius Malfoy of being a Death Eater even after the courts had found him to be acting under Imperius. "Please don't ask your dad. Just let Rory deal with this however she wants." 

Ife gave him a long, searching look. "I don't think she _will_ deal with it. But you're her friend. You know what's best for her." She glanced at Emily Pankowitz, who was waving to her from down the table. "I should go head off the gossips. Excuse me." 

The minute she was gone, Maureen grimaced and leaned almost all the way across the table, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I don't know who you think you're kidding. Rory never 'deals' with anything." 

"She has a right to be upset," Jim said. 

"That's not what I meant. She was having enough trouble with her mum – " 

"You know about that?" 

Maureen waved her hand dismissively. "She and I had a talk. That's not important right now. What's important is that she's been lied to a lot and she's decided to handle it by taking it out on you." 

"I _was_ arguing with her," Jim pointed out. 

"Good. It's about time someone did." Maureen made a face, as if she had just smelled something unpleasant. "I've met her grandparents a couple times, after my dad's games. They always have the best seats, the stupid gits. They attack people like Rory does. I'm not saying she's a bigot," she added quickly when Jim started to protest, "but I _am_ saying that she handles things by being mean." 

"Or she explodes." 

Maureen grimaced. "Or she explodes – and let me tell you, _that's_ not something she got from her grandparents. The day those two blow their tops is the day I hand the Quidditch Cup to Ravenclaw on a silver platter." 

Jim managed a feeble half-smile. "Would that be before or after Hell freezes over?" 

"Are you kidding? Like I'm going to let Rivers get Best Junior Player again! After!" She let out a guffaw that silenced everyone in the Great Hall. A moment later the buzz of conversation started up again, louder and more excited than before. Far from being perturbed by this, Maureen just flashed a triumphant smile. "Just greasing the wheels of gossip." 

"Please don't." Jim put his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do, Reen. Rory needs help." 

Maureen sobered immediately. "Rory can take care of herself. Did you forget all about your little row with her? She's pretty damn strong." 

"She's stronger than anyone I know," Jim conceded, "but that doesn't mean she knows what she's doing. I think she needs us, Reen." 

"You mean she needs _you_," Maureen said quietly. There was a very strange look on her face, at once knowing and sympathetic, but Jim didn't have the energy or the courage to ask what she meant. 

**~*~*~**

"Rory?" 

Very reluctantly, Rory lifted her eyes from _The Magical Student's Guide to Modernity_ and gave Brian a cool look. "What do you want?" 

Her fellow Musketeer shrugged. "You weren't at lunch, and after Jim told me what happened..." He shrugged. "I wanted to check on you." 

"Great." Rory scooted her chair a little ways over, giving Brian enough room to sit at the library's wooden table. It was no surprise to her that he had found her so quickly; the Musketeers had laid claim to this corner of the library as first-years. "Here to scold me, are you?" 

"Mostly I'm just here to talk to you." Brian set down his own pile of books and propped his elbows on the table. "Honestly, I think Jim shouldn't have chased after you. I'm surprised he got away alive." 

Only his teasing smile kept Rory from saying something truly impolite. As it was, she just shook her fist in a vaguely threatening manner. "Watch it, you." 

"Don't hurt me! I surrender!" Brian threw his arms over his head as if to ward off a blow, but his eyes were sparkling with silent laughter. "I'm on your side, Rory. We all are." 

Rory raised on eyebrow. "Really? You could have fooled me." 

Brian gave her a long look. Then he reached over and squeezed her hand. "We're a family, Rory. Maybe not the kind of family that has the same parents or the same last name, but that's not all that matters anyway. Jim and Reen are going about this the wrong way, but they still care about you. _I_ care about you. You're like my sister." 

"Do you _really_ want another sister?" Rory asked. 

Brian grinned. Casey and Wendy, his two little sisters, were both in Gryffindor and went out of their way to make his life interesting. "Sure," he said. "If I can put up with them, I can put up with you." His momentary mirth faded, replaced by concern. "I'll see what I can find about your dad, okay? If Delacour knows that much about him, he must be in some of the history books." 

"You mean these?" Rory gestured to the shelf behind her. "I've looked through half of them. There's plenty about my family, but nothing about my father. It's as though he never existed." She almost added, _Like my mother_, but decided against it. Brian was worried enough as it was. 

"He has to be somewhere," Brian said firmly. "I'll find him." He glanced down at his watch. "I will after Potions, anyway. We should get going. Snape will kill us if we're late." 

Rory groaned. Putting up with the assistant headmaster was the last thing she felt like doing. "All right," she said, reluctantly abandoning her book. "I'll come help you later." 

"Are you going to help with the Flying lessons this week?" 

She shrugged. "I don't know. I don't need Jim trying to talk to me." 

"He's probably going to apologize a lot," Brian said as he scooped up his own stack of books. 

Rory just stalked out of the library. Maybe if she walked fast enough, Brian would take the hint and drop the subject. 

**~*~*~**

There were some things that remained constant no matter how much the world changed: the sun rose and set; the Four Founders were revered and almost deified by the English wizarding world; Snape was the most blatantly biased professor on the face of the Earth. 

And of course, Maureen Wood could set anything on fire. 

"I hate Potions!" she snarled as she stormed out of the smoking, smelly classroom. "I hate it! I hate it! I _hate_ it!" 

Jim carefully took a few steps back from his fuming friend. The damage had been minimal this time and the class had escaped with nothing worse than a few scorched robes, but that hadn't stopped Snape from declaring that Maureen was his worst student since Neville Longbottom. Naturally Peony had taken offense and despite her fellow Hufflepuffs' efforts to restrain her, she had practically challenged the assistant headmaster to a duel. Only Jim's ability to spot impending detentions a mile away had kept them all from having the most miserable semester of their lives. 

The end result of all this was that although Jim had seen Rory in class, he had been too busy to talk to her. She had hurried out of the classroom the moment Snape set them free, and since her Magical Law class and his Muggle Studies class were in opposite wings of the castle, he had no chance of chasing after her. With a regretful sigh, he gave up for the moment and vowed to waylay her after supper. 

"You look happy," Peony said. She had been walking silently beside him for the past few minutes, apparently content to watch and wait. 

Jim just grimaced.

"Can I give you some advice?" She plowed on immediately without waiting for his answer. "Rory's like my great-grandmother. When she gets mad, you have to give her lots of room or she'll turn you into something horrible. It took us three days to fix Great-Uncle Horace," she added cheerfully, "and we never figured out how to get rid of the antenna." 

Jim gave her a sidelong look. "You think I should leave Rory alone?" 

"I think if you try to talk to her now, she might hex you." 

The thought had crossed his mind. "So I should avoid her." 

Peony gave a disgusted snort. "Boys! I didn't say _that_." She planted her hands on her hips and pinned him with a Look almost as terrifying as Rory's. "It's a girl thing, okay? Don't avoid her, just...don't be where she is." 

"Easier said than done," Jim muttered. Musketeers gravitated toward each other. It was practically a law of nature. 

Peony just smiled, her glower vanishing as if it had never existed. "Don't worry. I'll help you." 

Jim wondered if he would have been safer with Maureen. "Oh," he said weakly. "Thanks." 

~*~ 

There were two fourth-years in the Astronomy Tower when Rory arrived. She drove them away with a glare and sat down on the floor, crossing her arms and staring at nothing. Her stomach was growling, but she didn't feel like going down to supper and facing the rumors. More importantly, she didn't want to deal with Jim. He hadn't tried to talk to her yet – proving that his instincts for self-preservation were better than she thought – but she just knew that if she sat down at the Gryffindor table, she would have to speak to him. Most of the time she could ignore whomever she chose, but she had long ago discovered that nothing tugged at the heartstrings more than a certain Chang-Potter biting his lip and giving her hurt, questioning looks. Damn it, he actually looked _cute_ when he did that! 

"Rory? Are you up here?" 

Rory banged her head against the wall. _Why can't I get a moment's peace?_ Aloud, all she said was, "What do you want, Claude?" 

The normally cheerful Slytherin stood in front of her, looking more serious than she had ever seen him. "Here," he said quietly, handing over a piece of parchment. "It's the homework for Delacour's class. You left before she handed it out." 

Rory took the proffered parchment without a word and scanned the single paragraph of text. 

_Identify and explain (in your own words!) the significance of the following people, places or events in relation to modern magical history: Aurors' Revolt, Avada Kedavra, Azkaban, Burning, Chamber of Secrets, Cognatus Commisceo, Common Room Massacre, Godric's Code, Greatest Generation, Heir of Slytherin, Muggle Theory, Operation Prongs, Order of the Phoenix, Polyjuice Prolongation, Sham, Siege, Third Task._

_You will be expected to hand in detailed definitions by the 30th of October. Feel free to use and cite outside sources. Be prepared to discuss the above list during the next few classes._

"Wonderful," she said tonelessly, thrusting the parchment back. "Just what I need." 

Claude made no move to take it. "I copied that out for you," he said. "You can keep it." 

"I don't want it." 

"You're not dropping the class, are you?" When Rory didn't answer, Claude sighed and leaned closer to her. "Look, I don't know you very well, but I know _about_ you. I know that you're opinionated and you stick to your principles, and I know that you don't give up – ever. _And_," he added with a grin, "I know that you're the most stubborn student in Hogwarts." 

Rory narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to make me feel better?" 

"Well...yeah. It's not working, huh?" 

"Not really." 

"Damn." He was silent for a moment, and then his face lit up. "How about a dance? I can do a dance. I'll even sing badly." 

Rory felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Damn it. "I don't need to see you trying to make a fool of yourself." 

"Trying? Who said anything about trying?" Claude contrived to look hurt. "I happen to be _naturally _clumsy and tone deaf, thank you very much." 

"I don't doubt it." 

"Glad to know someone has faith in me." Claude jumped to his feet and did a klutzy sort of bow – one that might have been elegant with a lot of practice and patience. That was who Claude was, Rory realized: someone who would have practiced being refined twenty years ago, when old money and older names meant more than abilities. Now he was just a funny boy mocking the very actions that had set his father and grandfather apart from the rest of the magical world. 

She must have been staring at him, because he stopped goofing off and gave her a serious look. He was a little handsome when he bothered to hold still. His eyes were a smoky blue, half hidden under the fringe of his bangs. He had golden hair too – not white-blond like hers, but genuinely golden. 

"Hey," he said softly, and the spell broke. "Are you okay?" 

Rory opened her mouth to say that she was perfectly fine, thank you very much. Somehow that didn't happen. Instead she found herself balling her hands into fists and staring down at the ground. Her vision was blurring. It was fatigue, of course; Malfoys didn't cry. Still, there was no reason for Claude to see just how tired she was – of Jim's apologies, of her professors, of her family name. 

"Why did my father have to be a Death Eater?" she whispered. 

For a moment Claude didn't say anything. Then he let out a long breath, leaned against the wall and slid down it, his sweater making soft rasping noises as the rough wool ran over the stones. He ended up cross-legged on the floor beside her. "I heard about that at lunch. That must have been a bloody awful way to find out." 

Rory frowned at him. "You knew?" 

"Not really. I suspected, but only because of all the rumors about your family." His lips curved into a half-hearted smile. "I heard some Gryffindors saying your grandfather was You-Know-Who's right hand. I didn't bother to tell him every wizard and witch knows that was Pettigrew. Dumb Muggleborns." 

"Watch your tongue," Rory snapped, and had the satisfaction of seeing Claude wince. For all she knew, _she_ was a halfblood. Her anger vanished an instant later, as the full crushing weight of what she had learned that morning crashed back down on her shoulders. "My grandfather did not work with You-Know-Who. Otherwise he would be in Azkaban. He's just the biggest bastard in the world. But my father?" she added with a bitter laugh. "Who knows? Maybe he really _was_ evil incarnate." 

"So?" Claude asked, looking genuinely bewildered. "My father isn't exactly the nicest wizard in the world and my grandfather and uncle were Death Eaters. They got sent to Azkaban before I was born. Hell, half of Slytherin has one or two dark wizards somewhere in the family tree. All that stuff happened twenty years ago, Rory. It doesn't matter now." 

"Argh!" Rory banged her fist against the wall, ignoring the fact that it stung like hell. "That's just it! It _does_ matter! My father was _murdered_ by Death Eaters, Claude! I thought that meant something! I thought maybe he died for a reason!" 

"Um...why are you telling _me_ this? Wouldn't Brian and Maureen – " 

"Reen thinks I'm being unreasonable," Rory said flatly. "And Brian...doesn't know things. I'd like to keep it that way." 

Claude just frowned at her for a moment. Then he let out a humorless laugh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're not going to tell me what these 'things' are, are you?" 

"Of course not." 

"That's what I thought." His mouth twitched into a half-smile, but there was no pleasure in it. "You're more secretive than a Slytherin." 

Rory fought the urge to glare at him. "What does that have to do with anything?" 

He shrugged. "Maybe that's why Jim and Maureen aren't on your side. They're very open people, and they don't understand you because you never tell anyone everything." 

"You think my problems will go away if I just stand on my chair and shout them out in the middle of supper?" 

"No, but I think it would make things easier if you were more willing to trust." 

Rory shook her head. "You didn't grow up with my grandfather breathing down your neck. I'd like to see you be open and sharing then." 

"I'm just saying." Claude propped his chin on his hands. "You're not all Malfoy anyway, right?" 

"My mother stole my father's money and abandoned me," she retorted, falling back on the old lie because it was easier than the truth. "Oh, yes. _There's_ a role model." 

Claude just looked at her, a strange steady stare that she didn't know how to interpret. "Do you really believe that?" 

No one had ever asked her that before. Not once. She didn't know how to answer. When no words came, she settled for leaning forward and staring right back at him, her face inches from his. "Do you?" 

The answer was immediate. "No. Never." 

"Why not?" she demanded, an Auror interrogating a suspect. 

He just held her gaze. "Because I can't believe someone like you could be the daughter of someone like that." 

Rory didn't know how to answer. She didn't even know if she _could_ answer. Claude was little more than another face in her classes, sitting on the far side of the room with his fellow Slytherins. Yes, he was considerably nicer than his housemates, but she hadn't really spoken to him before this year. How could he have that much faith in her? 

Maybe this was what he meant about trusting people. After all, he trusted her to be a good person. 

"Claude..."

"Hello, lovebirds." 

"ACK!" Claude tried to scramble to his feet, only to trip over himself and land on his rear. Rory just wondered why the universe hated her. 

The old woman who hobbled up to them was a frequent sight in Hogwarts, usually seen talking animatedly at the High Table, watching the Quidditch practices or taking great delight in terrorizing any transgressors incautious enough to spend too long a time in the Astronomy Tower. No one knew exactly what she taught or even what her name was. Certainly she was a strange figure, with her pale eyes, polished cane, and short gray hair that stuck out in all directions. Many a late-night wanderer had come scurrying back to the Common Room, thankful to have escaped with their dignity intact. Maureen was brave enough to call her Old Biddy, but only when she was sure that she wouldn't be overheard. 

None of these facts had any effect on Rory, who met the woman's gaze levelly. "Can I help you?" 

The woman just smirked. "You can move. I need to make some observations." She nodded to one of the telescopes before giving the pair a sly, sidelong look. "If I were you, I'd try one of the storage rooms down in the cellar. No one ever goes down there." 

Rory felt her face flame. Old Biddy actually thought that she and Claude were going to... "I'm going back to my dorm," she said stiffly, climbing to her feet and stalking out of the Astronomy Tower before anything else could happen to her. _I can't believe this,_ she growled at the universe in general. _Why can't I be left alone for five minutes?_ She touched her cheek. It was very warm. _And why the _hell_ am I blushing?! Malfoys don't blush!_

Claude fell into step beside her. "I hate her," he muttered. Then he grimaced and glanced at her. "Rory, what were you going to say up there? Before the old bat interrupted, I mean." 

"It wasn't anything important," Rory said sharply. Too sharply. "I'll see you in Philosophy, Claude." She hurried down the stairs as fast as dignity allowed, the scrap of parchment clenched tightly in her fist, and tried desperately not to think about what had happened up in the tower. She never acted like that! Especially not around someone she didn't really know!

To her surprise, the Gryffindor Common Room wasn't completely empty. Brian was sitting at one of the tables with a number of large, thin books stacked all around him and the remains of a sandwich sitting on a napkin in his lap. He wasn't taking notes, but he had an air of concentration very familiar to Rory. Brian had found a puzzle and he was determined to solve it.

"That doesn't look like homework," she said as she walked over to the table. 

Brian didn't raise his eyes from the books. Instead he just shook his head. "I think I found something," he said softly.

"About my father?" When he nodded, Rory pulled up a chair and squeezed in next to him. "Show me!"

"Look at this." Brian handed her _Aurors Through the Ages_ and flipped it open to a dog-eared page. "See the paragraph all the way at the bottom of this page? Read from there until...here." He turned a few pages and pointed to another seemingly random paragraph. 

Rory frowned at the book. She liked reading as much as the next prefect, but this wasn't exactly a subject she wanted to study. "My father wasn't an Auror, Brian."

"Just read it."

There was no arguing with him when he used that tone of voice. Rolling her eyes, Rory flipped back to the dog-eared page and skimmed the tiny print.

_"Perhaps feeling the need to lead the quiet life previously denied him, Mr. Potter requested permission to be removed from the Aurors' active duty roster and transferred to the Office of Training and Recruiting. Certainly his last field assignment must have exhausted him; he spent at least six months actively pursuing a fugitive across the Middle East, the Indian sub-continent and much of North America – "_

What followed was a rather boring account of the structure and management of magical law enforcement in all of these areas. Rory skipped to the very end of the chapter, which thankfully had returned to the narrative. 

_"Mr. Potter's last assignment ended with the capture of the fugitive in the American Southwest that evening, although this selfsame fugitive was later murdered by persons unknown on 8th May, 2004."_

"That was exciting," Rory said dryly. "We all know Jim's father is wonderful. Was there a point to this?" 

"Oh, for the love of – " Brian cut himself off and pushed over a neatly bound tome. "Look at that." 

Rory glanced at the title. _A Complete Roster of Hogwarts Alumni: 1990 – 2000. _

"I talked Pince out of it," Brian said smugly. "It's supposed to be for researchers from Unseen University, but I convinced her that I was taking summer classes there." 

"Aren't you?" 

Brian's cheeks turned pink. "Well, yeah. Just Theoretical Magic and Thaumic Structure, though." He nodded impatiently to the book. "Well?" 

"Well, what? What's this supposed to…?" Then the light dawned. "What page is my father on?" 

"Here." Brian turned to a bookmarked page and pointed to a list of neatly hand-printed names, dates, and notations. "He's the sixth one from the top." 

Indeed he was. "'Draco Thomas Malfoy,'" Rory read aloud, "'Slytherin, prefect 1995 to 1998, Seeker 1992 to 1998, Quidditch captain 1996 to 1998.'" She smiled humorlessly. "Grandfather actually told the truth for once." 

"Keep reading," Brian urged. 

"There are dates here. Birth and death. September 16, 1980 and…" Suddenly no words would come. She couldn't even make a sound. 

Brian removed the book from her suddenly slack grip. His voice was very soft. "And May 8, 2004."

~*~

**Shoutouts: **Big thanks and schnoogles to the HP Bloodlines Yahoo!Group and everyone who reviewed Chapter Eight: AB, amanda_kay_c, Aradia Ring, ari stottle, CasMac16, damsalndistress-aif, Elektra, Frangelicah, Galya, HeraWhite, jam jackson, Jello Ink, JSawyer, K Weasley, KitLee, Lehle, Liz, Lyta Padfoot, Mabra46268, Malfoy Princess, Meghan, Moolamannil, Narcissa Malfoy, NecessaryEvil, Pandora20951, Piggily, Ray the Red Witch, Rhianna, Rowena, Shortcake, sikhchicky, SlowFox, Springrain, Storm, Syvia, Tamz, Tarawyn, Thena, Triskelion, Undercover Angel, wolf550e and the mysterious Unregistered. 


	10. Past Imperfect

Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_. This story was written for fun, not profit. 

A/N: Many thanks to all the Muses, especially Miss Cora and Fiat Incantatum; to Auber for putting up with last-minute wibbling; to my awesome beta reader Haggridd; to Galya, for babysitting The Meggie for me; and to the HP Bloodlines mailing list for general grooviness. 

**

Chapter Ten:   
Past Imperfect

**

The next morning Jim found himself besieged by the combined forces of Ife Adenuga, Emily Pankowitz, Annika Weasley and his own sister, all of whom were convinced that he had done something terrible to Rory. When he pointed out that he hadn't even spoken to his fellow Musketeer since the incident with Professor Delacour, the girls took turns calling him an idiot and muttered about how boys in general needed a few choice hexes to get their minds in proper working order. It took the combined efforts of Maureen and Brian to rescue him. 

"They're right about one thing," Maureen said as Brian shooed off his persistent cousin. "Rory was in a foul mood last night. Something's really bothering her. I tried to start a pillow fight with Emily and she practically threw both of us out the window." 

"Maybe she got a letter from her grandparents," Jim suggested. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy rarely bothered to write to their granddaughter and only heiress, but everyone in Gryffindor knew that when they did, it was best to stay as far away from Rory as possible. 

Maureen just shook her head. "That's not it. She wasn't cursing them out or anything. She was just being quiet and scary. Remember that time when we all forgot her birthday?" 

Jim winced and nodded. 

"Right. It was about ten times worse than that." 

"Is that even possible?" 

"This is Rory. What isn't possible?" Maureen clapped her hand on his shoulder. "She probably just wants your head on a pike or something. Don't worry. She'll calm down sooner or later." She started toward the Ravenclaw table. 

Jim glared at her. "You're abandoning me, aren't you?" 

"Nope. Just making peace with the enemy." She waved to one of Ravenclaw's reserve Beaters - a seventh-year whom Lily occasionally called "drool-worthy" - and sauntered across the Great Hall, leaving Jim to his own devices. 

Brian sat next to him and stared after her. "Does she have another boyfriend?" 

"Looks like." 

The other Musketeer's response was a disapproving snort. "Maybe if she actually spent time on her homework..." He sighed and shook his head, a contemplative frown crossing his face. "Jim, how long has it been since your dad was an active Auror?" 

Jim didn't bother to ask what had prompted that question. "I don't know," he said. "My mom's always done field work, but I think Dad got a desk job when I was four or five." He shrugged apologetically. "Things were different when I was little. We had to move around a lot." 

"Same here." Brian's frown deepened. He was starting to look very troubled. "Did you spend any time in North America?" 

"Not much." Jim closed his eyes as he tried to remember exactly what had happened during the first few hectic years of his life. There had been a lot of running -- running to, running around, running away -- always a few steps ahead of the various dark magic cults and the remnants of You-Know-Whose army. He did have a few vague memories of soaring skyscrapers and crowded streets like metal canyons, and of a woman with dark hair and a badge. Somehow those two images were connected, but he wasn't sure how. 

Brian nodded slowly. "You were...what? Two? Three?" 

Jim sighed. He wasn't in the mood to be interrogated, even by the ever-inquisitive Brian. "What's all this about?" 

"I think Rory's dad died in North America, and I think your dad had something to do with it." 

It was a well-known fact that very few things made Jim Chang-Potter angry. He was probably the most easy-going person in Hogwarts's history. This didn't mean that certain things weren't off limits. "My dad had nothing to do with Rory's father's death," he hissed. "Draco Malfoy was killed by Death Eaters, just in case you forgot. Or do you actually believe the Sham? Do you actually think my dad burned Hogsmeade?" 

"Don't be stupid!" Brian snapped. "Just because some idiots actually thought your parents were Death Eaters, it doesn't mean anyone believes it now!" 

"Those 'idiots' sent my mom and dad to Azkaban," Jim pointed out, but his voice had become softer and his flash of anger began to disappear. Brian hadn't meant any harm. He saw the world in terms of absolute truth; he wasn't implying anything, just stating the facts as he knew them, which at the moment indicated that Harry Potter knew something about how Rory's father had died. 

He gave Brian what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Sorry." 

"Apology accepted," Brian grumbled, only slightly mollified, but whatever tongue-lashings he was about to administer died unspoken as his eyes widened and he blushed redder than his hair. The cause was obvious: he had glanced at the Ravenclaw table and spotted Anastasia Krum. 

Jim grinned as he saw the bushy-haired little fourth-year avert her eyes and try to hide behind her goblet. She was just as red as Brian. "Why don't you say hello to her?" 

"Are you crazy?" Brian choked out. "I can't talk to her! You were there the last time I tried!" 

"We were all there," Jim said, not unkindly. "You made these 'ooo' sounds and she kept looking at the floor." 

Brian turned even redder, if that was possible. "Oh, shut up," he muttered. "You're no better." 

Jim blinked. "Better at what?" 

"At least I'm not blind." 

"I'm not blind!" Jim protested. "Better at _what?_" 

Brian just kept his eyes on his breakfast, sneaked glances at Anastasia, and refused to answer. 

~*~

Classes passed in their usual blur. The day's only highlights were the Unit's attempts to steal one of Lily's American fireworks during lunch and Professor Berkoare's handing out the syllabus in Advanced Charms. 

Not a particularly dutiful student in any of his other classes, Jim loved Charms and was excited about some of the experimental work they would be doing this year. Berkoare was very young – closer to Jim's age than most of the other professors – and he had all sorts of ideas about Tangible Charms. He had wallpapered his classrooms with clippings from all kinds of research journals. For Jim, it was like a small piece of heaven. 

On this high note, he dropped his book bag in the dormitory and headed for the Quidditch pitch. It was the Unit's first flying lesson, and he knew that Madam Hammond would need all the help she could get. 

Sure enough, the crowd of first-year Gryffindors standing in two untidy rows beside their brooms looked more restless than usual. While Madam Hammond attempted to calm down an overexcited Lydia Black, Jim began to hunt for the redheaded twins. They were nowhere in sight. He did see little Quentin Dursley, but the boy didn't return his friendly smile. 

"Looking for the Unit?" Ginger Weasley asked as she sat on her broom. 

Jim grinned and waved to her. Ginger was a third-year and a starting Beater on Gryffindor's House team, who had was also volunteered to help Madam Hammond with the swarm of first-years. She was a good choice, as she was the Unit's older sister and one of the only people who could get them to hold still for five whole minutes. 

"It's about time you got here!" she added. "They're all trying to fly off and I can't find Fred and George anywhere and ARGH!" Ginger shook her head in utter exasperation. Her outburst was hardly unusual. Although she looked like any other Weasley, most of the time she acted more like her refined mother Lora than her easygoing father Bill. 

Jim just smiled and turned to Madam Hammond. "Do you want me to find them?" 

"Yes. Tell them they've each lost ten points while you're at it." Madam Hammond chuckled softly. "You know, I haven't even seen those two, but from all the stories I've heard, I should be ready for anything." Her mirth vanished as she made shooing motions in Jim's direction. "Find them. Professor Weasley tried to talk my ear off just now about gods-know-what, so I'm behind as it is." 

"I'll find them." Jim dropped his broom on the grass and headed for the storage shed. If the Unit was hiding anywhere, chances were good it was in the tiny building. 

A few minutes and a lot of inventive swearing later, he found the two girls ensconced in the shed, happily wreaking havoc with the contents of a broomstick repair kit. He left the mess for Filch to sort out and hauled them outside. They made quite a scene, loudly complaining about how this was cruel and unusual punishment, thank you very much. Jim was more than happy to foist them on Madam Hammond, who did not look amused. 

That done, he settled himself on his own broom and kicked off the ground, joining Ginger as she circled over the first-years on her Cleansweep Twelve. The two teammates discussed Gryffindor's Quidditch prospects while they waited for all the first-years to get airborne. It took longer than usual – flying clearly wasn't one of Quentin Dursley's strengths - but once everyone got off the ground, it was remarkably peaceful. No one fell off, no one tried any stunts, and all Jim and Ginger had to do was stay out of the way. 

Jim should have known it was too good to last. 

There was a stir at the far end of the little knot of students. Jim looked over in time to see a certain pair of redheads break ranks. Grinning from ear to ear, the Unit swooped under Lydia Black's broom and grabbed onto the handle. Lydia seemed to know what they were up to. She wrapped her hands around the broom and gave them a thumbs-up. With a pair of identical war cries, the Unit began to fly all over the Quidditch pitch, towing Lydia behind them as the laughing girl held on for dear life. 

Jim couldn't believe his eyes. "GEORGIA! WINIFRED! CUT IT OUT!" He and Ginger flew after the trio of first-years, zipping and dodging around the less skilled riders as they chased the Unit all over the field. The other first-years scattered as best they could, but the mischievous trio obviously wasn't interested in causing mass chaos. They tugged Lydia's broom higher, doing loop-de-loops that made Jim's heart hammer against his ribs. He settled for circling under them, hoping that he could catch anyone who fell off. 

Ginger had other ideas. Hovering in midair, she wrapped her knees around her broom, cupped her hands around her mouth, and demonstrated the lungpower she could only have inherited from Molly Weasley. "WINIFRED! GEORGIA! I'M GOING TO OWL MUM!" 

And just like that, the joyride ended. Before the Unit could get any other ideas, Jim whipped out his wand and aimed it at Winifred's broom. "_Impedimenta!_" He repeated the charm on Georgia and Lydia's brooms, effectively preventing any escapes, and hung back while Ginger berated them. She took after her mother on most occasions, but she was definitely Molly Weasley's grandchild. Jim almost - _almost_ - felt sorry for Lydia and the Unit. As it was, he just waited until Ginger finished her tirade before helping her tow the temporarily submissive, but apparently unrepentant trio back across the pitch. 

Jim frowned at the assembled students clustered on the ground below them. Some of them were waiting for their wayward classmates, but most of them were clumped around something. They looked extremely distressed. 

"Jim?" Ginger asked as they approached the huddled knot of first-years, anger forgotten as concern flashed across her face. "What's going on?" 

A glance at Ginger was all that was needed for them to increase their speed, and in a few moments they had towed their bickering cargo to the ground. Up close, it finally became clear what the first-years were huddling around. 

It was Madam Hammond - sitting on a broom as if it were a floating chair, her mouth covered with her hands. She looked like she was about to cry. 

Jim saw the Unit fall silent and exchange uncertain looks. He had never seen them at a loss before. "We didn't do anything," Georgia said hesitantly as she, Winifred and Lydia jumped off their immobile brooms. "Really we didn't. We were just seeing if it would work." 

"If what would work?" Ginger asked. She sounded as confused as her little sister. 

Winifred glanced at her twin before speaking. "Uncle Ron told us about this trick that..." She trailed off, eyes going very wide. "Uh oh." 

Ginger frowned at her. "What do you mean, 'uh oh?'" 

"Uncle Fred and Uncle George used to do this trick when they were Beaters," Georgia explained slowly, even as Winifred made frantic shushing motions. "They would fly under other people and grab onto their brooms, and then they would pull them along. Just for fun, you know. So we wanted to try it. We're good flyers," she added defensively. "We could've pulled it off." 

Winifred smacked her on the shoulder. "That's not the point, dummy." She raised her eyebrows and nodded slightly to Madam Hammond. 

Now Georgia's eyes widened. "You mean _she's_ - " She dropped her gaze to the ground. "I didn't know!" she wailed. "Dad's gonna kill us!" She glanced at Winifred, who just sighed and shook her head. 

Jim had no idea what to do. He couldn't just dismiss the class, but the Unit's cryptic words and Madam Hammond's strange behavior told him that something was very wrong. He had to get a professor. 

"Ginger?" he said as he dropped his broom on the grass. "I'm going to get your aunt. Make sure no one leaves." 

His voice seemed to jerk Hammond out of her stupor. "Don't, Jim." Her voice sounded strangely hoarse. "I'm just a little tired. I'm fine." 

"You're not fine," Jim retorted, and before she could threaten to take points from Gryffindor, he turned and ran back toward the castle. Everyone was in class or in the Common Rooms, so there was no one to tell him to slow down or get in his way. In just a few minutes, he was pushing open the heavy door to Professor Weasley's office and peeking inside without bothering to knock. 

"Professor?" 

Brian's mother looked up from her books and gave Jim a weary smile. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair, usually in its neat bun, had been pulled into a sloppy braid; unruly strands had escaped and stuck out in all directions as if they had minds of their own. Other women might have scolded their godsons for addressing them so formally, but not Professor Weasley. She believed in rules and respect. Nonetheless, her voice was soft and welcoming. "Yes, Jim?" 

Jim slipped inside her immaculate office and stood by the door. "It's Madam Hammond, Professor. Fred and George were just playing around during her Flying class and she...she's crying." 

"She's what?" Professor Weasley stood up so quickly that she almost knocked over her chair. "Damn! I tried to warn her about..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Too late for that now. Where is she?" 

"Out on the Quidditch pitch. She told me not to say anything, but - " 

She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand. "She would tell you that. Thank you, Jim. You're dismissed." Without waiting for his answer, she breezed out of her office and let the heavy door swing shut behind her. 

Jim glanced at her desk - at the crumpled pieces of parchment and the stacks of leather-bound tomes. He rarely saw Brian's mother looking anything less than elegant. To see her so tired and worn was almost a physical shock. Whatever she was working on, she seemed to be losing a lot of sleep over it. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, he walked over to her desk and scanned the books' titles. They had names like _The Use of Blood in Charms and Curses_, _New Theories of Familius_ and _Transfiguring the Unwilling Spirit_. None of them looked very pleasant. With a shudder, Jim turned his attention to the crumpled parchment. A brief examination revealed nothing more than complex diagrams of magic circles and ley lines. Most had the words _cognatus commisceo_ scribbled at the top, but a few had different headings: _familia materna_ or _animus creptus_. They sounded like spells, but Jim didn't recognize them. He snatched up a blank scrap of parchment and copied all three headings onto it with Professor Weasley's quill, vowing to research them later. There was still Madam Hammond to worry about, and he had to get his broom off the pitch before anyone decided to take it for a joyride. 

He stuffed the parchment into his pocket and slipped out of the office. He hoped Brian's mother wouldn't notice that he had been a little slow getting back to the pitch, or even better, would have dismissed the class. Ginger would stay with his broom and keep her sisters and Lydia from trying it out. That would mean he'd have the rest of the afternoon off - plenty of time to figure out what Professor Weasley was working on. For a moment he just stood outside her office, frowning at the door. Whatever she had been researching, she was obviously very worried about it. That wasn't like her at all. Something was really wrong. 

Voices pulled him out of his troubled thoughts. One of them sounded like Professor Weasley, and both speakers were getting closer. Jim froze. If he had any sense at all, he would hurry past Brian's terrifying mother and hope she didn't question why he was still lurking by her office. That would have been the smart thing to do, anyway. Then again, Jim was a Musketeer, and Musketeers were known to do some pretty dumb things. 

Like eavesdropping, for instance. 

Before he could change his mind, he ducked behind the base of a large, rather ugly statue, crouching to keep telltale dust off his robes. He was just quick enough. A moment later Professor Weasley and her companion came into view. Jim risked a quick glance before pressing himself against the cold stone base and wishing fervently he knew how to cast an Invisibility Charm. 

" - don't need to be mothered!" the companion was saying. It was Madam Hammond. "I'm a grown woman! I've remarried! I've moved on with my life!" 

"I'm not saying you haven't," Professor Weasley replied in a tone of voice that suggested she had had this conversation several times before. Her voice was growing louder and clearer as she drew closer to Jim's hiding place. "I was just trying to warn you." 

"Did you try to warn the other professors?" Hammond asked bitterly. 

The footsteps stopped abruptly, right in front of the statue. Figured. "Of course I did," Brian's mother said. "I told everyone who knew Fred and George. Severus was _not_ happy to hear about them." 

"Good. Slimy bastard." There was a moment of heavy silence before Hammond spoke again, and in that short time she seemed to have returned to that strange moment on the pitch. "I'm not having flashbacks or anything. I swear I'm not. But...that's just what _they_ used to do during practice. It's exactly the same!" 

"You should have heard Sibyll going on about reincarnation," was the immediate, rather tart reply. Jim had to grin. It was an open secret that Professor Weasley thought the Divination professor was a fraud. 

Hammond laughed softly. "Did you hex her for me?" 

"Couldn't. Minerva was watching." 

"Pity." 

Again that silence descended. This time it was Brian's mother who broke it. "Katie, you'll get through this. I know it was a nasty shock..." 

"It was. I'll live. I can survive the Unit," Hammond added, and Jim could tell she was smiling. 

"You survived a year of Flying lessons with the Four Musketeers," Professor Weasley said dryly. "You can handle anything." 

This comment produced an actual chuckle. "Jim wasn't that bad. Your son and the girls, on the other hand..." Hammond actually laughed. "I have never seen someone as determined as your son to transfigure a broom." 

"Jim happens to be a handful," Professor Weasley retorted, unaware that the current subject of the conversation was a meter from her, wondering what horror story she was going to drag up this time. "You try watching a Chang-Potter toddler when you're pregnant with a Weasley - and Brian wasn't exactly a little baby, either." 

Hammond laughed. "Do you always cheer people up by talking about your godson?" 

"Only if it works." 

Jim groaned and wondered what he had done to deserve this. Aside from the whole spying thing and just about everything else he had ever done in the name of the Musketeers, of course. At this rate Brian's mother was going to bring up his parents' wedding, a rather rushed and embarrassing affair that his mother refused to talk about and that still made his father turn red every time someone brought it up. 

Thankfully the two women seemed to be done torturing him, albeit unwittingly. With a final order to come talk to her later, Brian's mother sent Hammond back down to the pitch with instructions to have Ginger bring Jim's broom back to his dormitory. She waited until the Flying instructor had disappeared around a corner before she started back toward her office. At long last, Jim was able to climb out of his hiding place. 

His very dusty hiding place. 

_Oh, damn._

Five years of late-night adventures and narrow escapes from Filch allowed him to muffle his sneeze, but this one was still quite audible. When he was sure that he wasn't going to sneeze again, he risked opening an eye and glancing toward Professor Weasley's office. Maybe, just maybe, she had already gone inside. 

No such luck. Professor Weasley was looking right in his direction – and she was frowning suspiciously. 

_Oh, no. She'll give me detention for a year! She'll owl Dad!_ Jim shivered as another even more unpleasant possibility presented itself. _Forget Dad. She'll owl _Mum!_ She'll ground me for life! I'll never see daylight again!_

For a moment Jim just huddled beside the statue as a thousand different possibilities ran through his head, each more unpleasant than the last; Cho Chang-Potter took a dim view of stern notes from professors, especially family friends like Brian's mother. There was nothing he could do. This was it. This was the end. He was dead. Might as well turn himself in now and hope his mother was in a really, really good mood when the letter home arrived. 

He took a deep breath and started to stand up. 

Something flitted across his vision, then glided down the corridor and stood in front of Brian's mother. It was a pale, almost transparent image of a boy, his features blurred until they were completely unrecognizable. He was wearing what looked like a colorless Quidditch jersey and a pair of shorts, and his hair moved in a nonexistent breeze. 

Professor Weasley heaved a sigh. "Poor Boy! Don't scare me like that!" 

The Poor Boy didn't answer - or if he did, no one could hear him. He wasn't like other ghosts. All anyone knew about him was that he was most often found near the entrance to Gryffindor Tower and that he would often shoo students out of sight moments before a rampaging Filch come storming past. The Musketeers owed him quite a large debt and would have gladly paid it if they knew who the hell he was. 

"I thought you were a student," Brian's mother added as she stalked back toward her office, her back to Jim. "Honestly! This school gets stranger and stranger every damn day..." Her voice faded as she entered her office and slammed the door behind her. 

Jim slumped against the statue, breathing hard. That was too close. He looked up in time to see the Poor Boy drift in front of him. If he squinted, it was possible to make out vague features, including what might have been a disappointed frown. For some reason he found himself squirming under the ghost's scrutiny, as if he was being scolded by his parents for some transgression. 

"I don't suppose you know what that was all about?" he asked. 

The Poor Boy just shrugged his misty shoulders and lifted an arm, pointing toward Gryffindor Tower. The message was clear: Get moving. Now. 

Jim didn't even consider disobeying the ghost. No one could frown quite like a supernatural creature, especially one who had helped the Musketeers so many times for no obvious reason. 

It was only when he started walking that he remembered a strange part of Professor Weasley's conversation with Madam Hammond. _Wait a minute._ Jim stared at the closed office door. _I was a _toddler_ when she was pregnant with _Brian?_ I thought we were born around the same time._

_What's going on?_

~*~

If there was one quality Claude could be said to possess in abundance, it was perseverance. While the rest of the Magical and Muggle Philosophy class took notes on Aristotle, he kept trying to catch Rory's eye. Rory ignored him, of course. She was too preoccupied with Brian's discovery to wonder what Claude wanted to talk about. In the end she just glared at him, and tried to ignore the twinge of guilt when his face fell and he finally looked away. It was his own fault for nosing into her business. He wasn't even a Musketeer. 

Rory skipped dinner and retreated to her dorm with her pile of homework, but schoolwork was no way to avoid the unpleasant thoughts running through her head. When she started imagining her father, gaunt and haggard, being cursed over and over again by Mr. Potter, she shoved her Transfiguration essay aside and stared at a discolored spot on the wall, completely lost in thought. 

When she stopped to consider it, she knew next to nothing about her own father. He had been an only child out of a long line of only children, and had been the last Malfoy heir until Rory herself was born. He had been Slytherin, pureblooded, an athlete and a decent enough wizard. But aside from these bare facts, he was a complete blank. Had Rory inherited her quick tongue from him? Her sarcasm? The inquisitiveness that so often got all four Musketeers into trouble? Had _he_ seen the world in stark absolutes or shades of gray? 

Would he have been proud of her? 

In her heart, Rory suspected that she already knew the answer to that last question. It wasn't enough that she was a prefect or that she commanded the respect and fear of most of the student body. She was a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin, which was all that mattered to her family. Worse, if she were somehow forced to choose which side she would have taken in the war with You-Know-Who, she wouldn't hesitate. Family or no family, right and wrong was more important. If her father had been a Death Eater - and like it or not, she had no reason to doubt Delacour - how could she have made him proud? 

No, her father would hate her. And she was too proud and too stubborn to change who she was, even for him. 

She wondered if that was what the Sorting Hat had seen in her, and if her mother had been just as stubborn. Maybe she had been an Auror, or even someone like Brian's mother, who, though poised and reserved, was still capable of calling her fellow professors something extremely vulgar on occasion. 

Or then again, maybe her grandparents' story contained a grain of truth. Maybe her mother had been a prostitute, an opportunist, or something truly vile, like another Death Eater. Rory didn't know what to believe anymore, and she was beginning to think that it was better if she never found out. Then she could pretend that at least one of her parents was worth looking up to. 

She feigned sleep when Maureen came looking for her, and kept her blanket pulled over her head as the other girls climbed into their beds. Not that she was crying, of course. Malfoys didn't cry. 

~*~

On Saturday morning Jim awoke to utter darkness and to Robert Anderson hitting him with his own pillow. He flung his arm over his eyes and briefly considered hexing his captain into next week. Robert wasn't as bad about Quidditch as Maureen was, but he gave her a run for her money. 

"Robert," he said flatly, catching the pillow one-handed. "What time is it?" 

"Four o'clock!" Robert crowed. 

Jim moved his arm aside long enough to glare. In his personal opinion, no one should have been allowed to crow at four in the morning. "You're worse than Reen's dad." 

"I choose to take that as a compliment," Robert said, and proceeded to haul his Seeker out of bed by his wrists. "You especially need to practice! We'll be depending on you to outfly Watkins - and I've seen her on a broom! If we're going to beat Ravenclaw, we need to - OW!" He spun around and glared at Tucker Johnson, who had thrown a shoe at him. 

Tony Rodriguez propped himself up on his elbows and blinked blearily at Jim. "I hate to say this," he mumbled around a yawn, "but if you don't get this arsehole out of our dorm, I'll have to kill both of you." He was seconded by Hunter Thomas and Cian O'Conner. Brian was silent, though not out of any misplaced solidarity; the Musketeer could sleep through anything. 

Jim rolled out of bed and evicted a grumbling Robert long enough to change into the tee shirt and sweatpants he normally wore to Quidditch practice. Broom in hand, he made his way down the stairs to the Common Room. Most of the team was already there, in various states of unconsciousness. Ginger Weasley appeared to be snoring. Only Maureen looked even remotely perky. 

"Honestly! No House pride at all!" Robert folded his arms and glared at his team, such as it was. Jim ignored him and joined Maureen on a sofa. Robert was a fifth-year and Muggleborn, and he had gotten the job as team captain for a number of reasons, none of which had anything to do with his Quidditch skills. Like his older brother Jason, pompous Head Boy extraordinaire, he was a good organizer and tended to get what he wanted, if only because he pestered people until they gave up in disgust. 

Unfortunately, he took his job quite seriously, and until he graduated or someone else decided the job was worth the bother, the Gryffindor House team was stuck with him. 

Chance Thomas, Hunter's third-year brother, opened one eye long enough to groan at Robert. "It's not even light out," he muttered. 

"And?" Robert demanded. "How else are we supposed to make any progress against Ravenclaw?" 

Maureen shrugged. "Blind luck?" When Robert glared at her, she just rolled her eyes. "I want to get the Cup just as much as you, but I need my beauty sleep!" 

"Since when do _you_ ever sleep?" Leah Harris mumbled. "Probably off shagging some Hufflepuff, knowing you..." She trailed off into dreamland, using Jim as a handy pillow. 

If the comment had been intended to bother Maureen, it failed miserably. She just shook her head. "Gryffindor, not Hufflepuff." Facts established, she climbed to her feet and hauled Jim and Leah after her. Maureen was very strong for a girl her size. She had to be, to pull off half the stunts she did during Quidditch games. 

Robert eyed Maureen as if torn between scolding her and encouraging her, since she was actually awake. After a few moments of thought he gave up and instead attempted to wake up Joseph Li and Ginger, whose snores were loud enough to wake the dead. 

With some effort -- and a few choice obscenities -- the Gryffindor team stumbled down to the Quidditch pitch and huddled in a small, sullen clump as they listened to Robert ramble on about the newest strategy he had read in The Modern Quidditch Handbook. This less-than-stirring lecture was further undermined by Maureen, who interrupted every five minutes to tell Robert exactly how much his strategies stank, and by Ginger, who was snoring once again. Jim propped his chin on his hand and ran over his position's techniques in the privacy of his own head. Between his dad and his uncle Charlie, he had learned more about being a Seeker than any handbook could teach him. 

Robert ended his lecture before it turned into a rant about House pride, for which Jim silently thanked Merlin, the Founders, and a host of deities in whom he didn't actually believe. He was poking Ginger awake again when the first sign of trouble arrived on the pitch. 

Trouble, in this case, taking the form of Ravenclaw's House team. 

Seventh-year Tasha Rivers stalked over to Robert the moment she spotted him, her new Nimbus 5000 slung over her shoulder and her free hand planted on her hip. She was a tall, dark-haired girl with an intimidating stare and a certain attitude that suggested she could keep her head in any situation. During games she was everywhere at once -- outflying other Chasers, shouting orders and encouragement, threatening to hex her teammates if need be. She made a much better captain than Robert ever would. 

The Ravenclaw team was arrayed behind her. The entire team was very talented, and it was only blind luck and a string of Ravenclaw illnesses and injuries that had allowed Gryffindor to walk away with the Quidditch Cup last year. Jim had played against most of them, although the only one he had ever spoken to off the Quidditch pitch was Tasha's fellow seventh-year and Anastasia's older sister, Franziska Krum. The Krums were good friends with Jim's family, and normally Franziska was very friendly. Right now, however, she was scowling just as fiercely as her famous father. 

This year, with Tasha and her team rested and eager to win, it would take a miracle to beat them. 

The only Ravenclaw Jim didn't recognize was a tiny, very dark-skinned girl in a gray sweatsuit, her long hair pulled into a tight braid. She looked much younger than the rest of her team. This had to be Julia Watkins, the Muggleborn second-year Maureen and Robert kept complaining about – the one who was rumored to be the best Seeker in a hundred years. She paused and acknowledged Jim's glance before returning her attention to Tasha. 

Then again, it was hard _not_ to focus on Tasha. She was being very loud. 

"What part of 'I signed out the pitch' don't you understand?" the Ravenclaw captain snapped. She flourished a piece of paper, which Robert glanced at before handing back. He hadn't even opened his mouth before she was at it again, more insistent than ever. "I have a new Seeker, Anderson! My team needs to practice! I have a Cup to win!" 

"I signed out the pitch first," Robert retorted. "Maybe you misread the schedule?" 

Tasha's jaw clenched. She fumed for a moment, face so red that Jim wondered why smoke wasn't pouring out of her ears, but there wasn't much she could say to that. It was well known throughout Hogwarts that while Robert was a terrible captain, he was absolutely obsessive about paperwork. If he said he had signed the pitch out first, he probably had. 

Joseph dragged himself over to Robert and tapped him on the shoulder. "Don't start a row, okay? We can share the pitch." 

"You can go back inside and let us have it," the Ravenclaw Keeper, Ryan Somersby, retorted. Tasha silenced him with a glare. Maureen attempted to silence him too, but in a slightly less orthodox fashion. Jim kept a grip on her shoulder to make sure she didn't make too many rude gestures. 

"Can't we just play a quick scrimmage or something?" Leah whined. "I'm not going back inside after I got dragged all the way out here." 

"Neither am I," said Franziska. "I'm up and I'm dressed. If I don't get to play Quidditch today, I'm going to hex someone." 

The two captains exchanged scowls. Neither seemed to like this idea at all, but the Ravenclaws were getting restless and the Gryffindors were starting to plot mutiny. Robert finally nodded, and Tasha began ordering her team to bring out the four balls. Yet again, Jim set about waking Ginger up. 

While he nudged the Beater, Julia Watkins slipped over to him and smiled shyly. She was even smaller than Rory had been her second year -- something that Jim had once thought impossible. Her eyes were locked on the grass. For a long time she just fidgeted, shuffling her feet and staring at the ground. Jim wondered if she was feeling ill. 

"Havgoogame!" she finally said in a rush, and scurried back for the Ravenclaw team, eyes still locked on the ground. 

Jim blinked. "Huh?" 

Maureen sidled over to him, looking even perkier, and far too amused for such an early hour. "Someone's got a _cru-ush_..." she sing-songed. Jim swatted at her with Ginger's Beater's bat. 

Eventually the teams sorted themselves out. Ginger was finally awakened quite forcibly when Leah emptied a water bottle on her. Robert and Tasha were prised apart, the Snitch was released, and the game was on. 

~*~

"Well," said Leah three hours later, while she and Jim were dragging Maureen away from the pitch, "that could have gone better." 

Joseph just groaned. "Anyone else planning on finding large rocks to hide under?" 

The Gryffindor team was utterly silent. They were sweaty and tired and had just had the point hammered home that Ravenclaw had the best team at Hogwarts. In fact, Ravenclaw was possibly the best team in the history of the school. Gryffindor was good, but not that good. As for Julia... 

The shy little second-year was probably the best Seeker Jim had ever seen – better than Aidan Lynch, better than Viktor Krum, better than his uncle Charlie. Even Jim's father, amazing Seeker though he had been, would have been hard-pressed to outfly Julia. 

And as Jim had so forcibly been reminded, he wasn't his father. He would never be as good as his father, even in Quidditch. 

It was still early, and the Gryffindor Common Room was almost empty. Neither Rory nor Brian would be up for a long time and Maureen wouldn't be fit for human company until she calmed down, so Jim was on his own for the time being. He didn't mind. He liked being around people and listening to them, watching the banter of opinions back and forth, but sometimes he liked just having time to think. 

Mostly he was thinking about his father. 

A few years ago he had looked up "Potter, Harry James" in one of his History of Magic textbooks. He wasn't sure what made him do it. He had expected paragraphs and paragraphs about his father's accomplishments, but all that had been there was a single line of text: 

_Auror. Defeated Voldemort 1981, 1998. The Boy Who Lived._

That said it all, didn't it? 

Unlike Lily, Jim didn't mind that he would spend the rest of his life in his father's shadow. For all the legends, the great Harry Potter was a perfectly ordinary person, always slightly embarrassed by the fame that followed him and never got angry with the worshipful hordes so insistent on praising him to the heavens. When Jim's mother or uncle Ron started complaining about the reporters camped out on the lawn or the cameras that followed the Chang-Potters everywhere, his father would just shrug and smile a little sadly. 

They don't know, he would say. They weren't there. And that would always be the end of it. 

Jim had his own special qualities, some better-known than others, but in the end he was happy simply being Jim, and letting others revel in the attention. Being the hero and savior of the world caused too many problems. 

Like the one with Rory's father, for instance. 

Jim's eyes narrowed as he fought back another rare flash of anger. He was the first to admit that his early years had been confusing, since most of them had been spent fleeing dark wizards who wanted his family dead. Sometimes he remembered little glimpses – climbing through a cave somewhere hot and dry, being dragged through a giant crowd by someone in a red dress, walking through tall metal canyons with the woman with the silver badge. It had been a chaotic, painful time and Jim knew better than to ask his parents about it. 

But no matter how desperate things had become, it was utterly inconceivable to him that his father had murdered Draco Malfoy. The thought made him sick. His father was many things. A killer wasn't one of them. 

"You're not thinking about Quidditch, are you?" Maureen asked as she flopped on the sofa next to him. She had showered and changed into a cropped jersey and very baggy jeans. 

Jim shook his head. 

His fellow Musketeer leaned against him, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. "Worried about Rory?" 

He shrugged. "I'm worried about a lot of things." 

"I know. It's your job." Maureen poked him in the chin and steered his head around with a finger, so he was nose to nose with her. "Listen," she said firmly. "I don't know everything that's going on between you two, but you're my friends and you're hurting each other." She tilted her head to one side. "Well, to be honest...she's hurting you more." 

"Rory's not hurting me," Jim said. 

"Uh huh. That's why you're moping around and being no fun at all. Do something already! Talk to her! Shag her!" 

"Reen!" Jim didn't know exactly what color his face was, but he was sure he had just invented a new shade of red. 

Maureen shrugged, undeterred. "Fine. Just snog her, then. I'm not picky." 

"_Reen!_" 

"Oh, grow up." Maureen leaned forward until the tip of her nose was touching his, and glared. Jim was vaguely aware that he was in a position that most other boys in the school would kill to be in – namely, in physical contact with a freshly showered Maureen Wood – but he was too embarrassed by her suggestions to care. 

He pushed her away and folded his hands across his chest, frowning down at his lap. "Reen," he said with as much patience as he could manage under the circumstances. "If I talk to her, she'll try to kill me." 

"And if you try to snog her?" 

There went the new shade of red again. "She'll definitely kill me." 

"Point. Maybe you can get her really drunk...I'm kidding!" Maureen added quickly, when Jim hid his head in his hands and wished he knew how to Apparate somewhere far away. Like the Bermuda Triangle. Or Mars. 

"Reen," he said slowly and carefully. "I am _not_ snogging her. Please go away." 

"Killjoy." Maureen climbed off the sofa and peered at him, hands planted on her hips. "Just...fix things with her, okay? I don't care how. Things can't stay like this." 

Jim frowned. He hadn't seen Maureen look this serious in a long time. "What?" 

"They just can't," she repeated stubbornly. "Because if they do, Brian and I are going to have to start choosing sides for real...and I want three friends, not just one." 

For the second time that week, Jim was left staring after Maureen, wondering what she knew that he didn't. 


	11. That Skeeter Woman

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is the property of J. K. Rowling. This story was written for fun, not profit. "Red Rubber Ball" was written by Simon and Garfunkel and recorded by the Cyrkle. Yes, I'm disclaiming that for a reason. 

A/N: Many thanks to my incredibly patient beta Haggridd; to Miss Cora, Fiat Incantatum, and all the Muses for putting up with my ramblings; and to Nadia Rose, with whom I share several fandoms and at least half a brain. 

Chapter Eleven:   
That Skeeter Woman 

~~ 

Two weeks after Rory and Jim had stopped speaking to each other, an owl swooped over the Gryffindor table during breakfast and dropped three letters, one in front of each of the Chang-Potters. No one recognized the owl, which should have been their first clue that something was amiss. 

Their second, rather more obvious clue was the wax seal affixed to the back of the heavy, cream-colored envelopes. When Jim noticed it, he abandoned his porridge and frowned down the table at Lily, who was busy keeping Tim Jordan and Annika Weasley from stealing her letter. "It's from the _Prophet_," he called. 

Both Tim and Annika stopped trying to snatch the letter, which gave Lily time to hold it at arm's length and peer at it. "It's that Skeeter woman again. I'd bet my broom on it." 

"What do you mean 'again'?" Maureen asked as she extracted herself from Tony Rodriguez's lap. Further down the table, Rory and Brian both looked up from last-minute homework. They had obviously overheard from whence the letters came. 

Jim did his best to ignore them. He just stuffed his letter into his bookbag and shrugged. "That Skeeter woman tries to interview us once or twice each year. This is just the first time she's sent an owl to us during school." 

"Mum and Dad told us to ignore her," Cedric said as he passed his unopened letter over to Lily. She clutched both letters in one hand and gleefully used a few Severing Charms to shred them into confetti. 

"What if they were important?" Ife asked. She looked quite disapproving, as if destroying the post was a high crime. 

Jim shrugged. "They weren't. They never are." 

"There's a first time for everything," Ife began, but before she could say anything else she was silenced by Rory, who cleared her throat and frowned. It wasn't the Malfoy Look, but it was close. Confronted with that glare, Ife slouched down and tried to hide behind an oblivious Hunter Thomas, who was busy exchanging doting glances with Sorcha Finnigan over at the Ravenclaw table. 

Jim couldn't have cared less what Ife did. He was too busy watching Rory, who had bound her hair up in a loose ponytail, fastened with a long scarlet ribbon that just brushed the nape of her neck. That in itself wasn't unusual, since she had been trying to tame her hair for at least as long as the other Musketeers had known her, but for some reason it fascinated Jim. He wondered if Rory knew how nice she looked with a ribbon in her hair. 

"Jim? _Earth owling Jim!_" 

"Huh?" He looked up just in time to avoid a swat from Maureen's rolled-up issue of _Quidditch Weekly_. All thoughts of ribbons and Rory's hair flew out of his head. "What was that for?" 

Maureen scowled at him. She was leaning all the way across the table and had put her hand squarely in the jam, but she didn't seem to notice. "I was _asking_ if you wanted to go to Quidditch practice early today, but if you're too busy mooning over Rory -- " 

"I wasn't mooning!" Jim squawked, and was immediately sorry he had raised his voice when everyone in the Great Hall turned to stare. When he saw that Rory was raising an eyebrow at him, he quickly returned his attention to Maureen. He could feel his cheeks getting very hot. "_I wasn't mooning!_" he repeated, this time in a whisper. 

"And I'm Godric Gryffindor's long-lost Aunt Tilly." Maureen attempted to hit him with her magazine again. When he ducked again, she planted her other hand in the butter to catch her balance. "Are you coming to practice early or not?" 

"I don't know," Jim muttered, stalling for time. He liked Quidditch, but he also knew from experience that practicing alone with Maureen was a trial to be avoided at all costs. She inevitably made him play Keeper while she rocketed the Quaffle at him, and Jim was always left feeling clumsy and inept -- not to mention bruised. 

Maureen was undeterred. She pointed down the table to their captain, who was in the middle of a deep discussion with his older brother, Jason the pompous Head Boy. "Anderson's going to work us to death anyway. We might as well get some practice in without him breathing down our necks." 

It was obvious that she wasn't going to drop the subject, so Jim sighed and nodded. "I guess I'll go." 

If Maureen noticed his lack of enthusiasm, she gave no sign. "That's the spirit!" she crowed, and promptly slipped in the butter and landed in the fruit plate. 

~~

Rory was just as hassled as Gryffindor's hapless House team, although what she was studying had nothing to do with Quaffles and Snitches. Instead she had spent all of her free time in the library, pouring over modern history texts and the rosters Brian had acquired for her. While her fellow Musketeer plowed through books with titles like _How Muggles Invented Magimechanics_ and _Manipulating Space and Time for Fun and Profit_, Rory attempted to hunt down any mention of her father and his family. 

She hadn't found much she didn't already know. The Malfoys had once been a large, sprawling clan, but thanks to a stubborn refusal to marry anyone who couldn't trace their magical lineage back several hundred years, they had steadily dwindled. Of course, the upside of all this was that the surviving Malfoys got progressively richer as fewer and fewer relatives were left to split the wealth, and no one in her family had held a real job in over three hundred years. Being of an ambitious mindset, those relatives had taken it upon themselves to prune the family tree a little more than was strictly necessary. As a result, Rory was the last heiress to the only remaining Malfoy line. All this made her wonder how on Earth her grandfather was getting his Galleons, but it told her nothing about her father. 

Not that there weren't tantalizing bits and pieces scattered here and there. Draco Malfoy had been a decent enough student, since the rosters listed him as a prefect, and he must have been a good Quidditch player if he had risen to team captain. But there was nothing about him in any of the history texts, even the more traditional sort that read less like books and more like the bragging rights of the pureblooded families. The only mention she had found of him was the tiny obituary squeezed into a corner of an old copy of The _Daily Prophet_, and that hadn't even listed his date of death, much less the exact circumstances. 

_Jim's father would know how he died_, a little part of her whispered. She shoved the thought away before it could make her ill. 

"No luck?" Brian asked when she slammed _A Concise History of Modern Dark Wars_ shut and shoved it away. He had a giant roll of parchment beside him, filled with equations and diagrams she couldn't even begin to understand. Brian's course load was as large as he could make it without resorting to a Time Turner, and he was working on independent projects with a few professors as well. Some of the material he was studying made her head spin. 

She pushed the giant parchment back to his side of the table and frowned at her clasped hands. "No," she said softly. "No luck." 

"He has to be in there somewhere. You're just not looking in the right place." Brian propped his chin on his ink-stained hand and drummed his fingers on the table, earning a nasty look from Madam Pince. "Let's try this a different way," he said, sounding for all the world like his mother tutoring a first year. "What do you remember about your father?" 

For a moment Rory considered throwing a book at him, but she decided against it. That would be a waste of good reading material. Besides, all four of the Musketeers were on permanent probation with Pince after one too many incidents last year, and she had no desire to get thrown out of the library in September. "You _know_ I don't remember a lot," she hissed. "I was two years old when he died. I just remember that he was nice and sad." 

Brian frowned. "Nothing else?" 

Rory squeezed her eyes shut, trying to bully her brain into revealing some new piece of information. Nothing useful was forthcoming, so she just shrugged. "I remember two people arguing with my grandfather, and I think I remember someone singing." 

"Singing? Malfoys sing?" Brian looked as if the concept pained him. 

"Of course Malfoys don't sing," Rory muttered, batting away the very disturbing mental image of her grandparents doing a duet. 

"Then who was it, if it wasn't your dad?" 

"How should I know? I just remember a few lines from a song." Rory slumped in her chair, arms folded across her chest. "And don't get any funny ideas. _I'm_ not singing it. I don't even remember most of the words." 

Brian just narrowed his eyes, set his jaw, and acquired the expression that meant he had made up his mind and nothing short of a typhoon would drag him from his position. "You're only half Malfoy," he pointed out, "and I need to know what the song is. It might have an important clue in it. Just sing it quietly." 

"You're insane. _No_." 

"I'll sing if you don't. I'll do it loudly, too." 

"That's blackmail." When he just kept glaring determinedly, Rory's stomach started to flip-flop. There were some fates worse than death. Hearing Brian mangle a tune was one of them. "You _wouldn't_." 

Brian answered by humming a few notes that might, with some imagination, have been the first bars of "Bury My Heart At Good Old Zonko's." Hardened Dark wizards would have run for the hills. 

"All right! All right! Stop it!" Rory threw up her hands in surrender. "I'll do it! Just don't sing!" 

Brian didn't bother to look hurt. It was a well-known fact that he was completely tone-deaf. "Well?" he prompted. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Rory hunched in her chair and threw a quick glance around the library, which thankfully was almost deserted. She dropped her voice to the barest whisper and forced out the fragment she remembered before her nerve could fail her. 

"_I think that it will be all right,   
Yes the worst is over now,   
The morning sun is shining   
Like a red rubber ball._" 

She would have dived under the table after that, except Malfoys didn't get embarrassed. "There," she mumbled instead. "Are you happy?" 

Clearly Brian wasn't. He just looked bewildered. "I've never heard that before." 

"Wonderful. I did that for nothing." Rory cupped her hands so she could shield her face from the rest of the library. She was sure that she could feel someone staring at her now. "If you can get something useful out of that song, you deserve the Order of Merlin." 

"Point taken." Brian ran his fingers through his messy hair. Ink caught on his bangs and clumped a few strands together, but he didn't seem to notice. "Well, don't give up yet. You'll find something if you keep looking. Chin up and all that." When Rory started to reach for her wand, ready to test a few choice hexes on him, he yelped and hid behind a giant tome. His brown eyes peered over the top of it. "Or maybe you should take a break?" he squeaked. 

"And do _what?_ I finished most of my homework and tomorrow's Saturday." 

Brian lowered the tome slightly. "You could help me with Mum's surprise party. I don't want Darius and Albus to take over, but they're going to if we don't make some plans soon." 

Rory had completely forgotten about the twentieth-anniversary party she and Brian were supposed to be planning for Professor Weasley, but she didn't say so. That would just hurt Brian's feelings. He was under the impression that his family had all but adopted her, and although she personally thought they just knew a charity case when they saw one, she wasn't about to disillusion him. She cared about him too much to do that. 

"Fine," she muttered, and dug through her bookbag for a blank piece of parchment. Planning a party was the last thing she felt like doing, but it would hurt Brian if she told him that. Also, she was most certainly not letting Percy Weasley's two oldest sons plan anything of any kind. Darius and Albus Weasley were at least twice as annoying as their father, whom they strongly resembled. "Did you have any ideas?" she asked Brian as her hand finally closed around a stray scrap. 

Her friend nodded and flourished a long, numbered list. "I learned a neat trick from my cousin Mol -- you know, Uncle Bill and Aunt Lora's oldest, the one with that big camera -- and I was thinking that if I can get a hold of some old photographs over the holiday, I could use a Projecting Charm to..." He trailed off, because Rory was no longer paying any attention to him. "What's the matter?" 

Rory pushed the scrap of parchment across the table. It wasn't blank. She had accidentally grabbed the Modern Magical History assignment Claude had so painstakingly copied for her. 

"This is due soon," Brian said reproachfully as he scanned the due date. He ignored Rory's frown and peered at the list instead. "Do you know any of these terms?" 

"Of course I do." Rory attempted to snatch the scrap back, but it was too late, but he just absently held it out of her reach and kept reading it. "Give it back, Brian!" 

He didn't seem to hear her. "Some of these are really easy. I don't know what Professor Delacour was thinking. Who _wouldn't_ know about the Third Task and the Siege?" Brian sounded genuinely insulted. He also sounded intrigued, which was even worse. "I've never heard of some of these terms, though. You'd think they'd be in textbooks, wouldn't you?" he asked, his voice growing rushed as he got more and more excited. "I mean, obviously I've heard of Polyjuice Prolongation, Mum invented that, but what's Operation Prongs? That's a stupid name if you ask me -- and look! There's a spell in here!" 

Rory blinked. "A spell?" she echoed. 

"It's a strange one, too. I've never heard of _Cognatus Commisceo_, but it sounds like it's derived from...but that's Dark, it couldn't possibly be..." He trailed off, gaze locked on the scrap. 

Rory had long since stopped being mad at Brian for stealing her homework, especially for a class in which the professor studiously pretended she didn't exist. Her friend looked worried -- not annoyed, _worried_. That didn't bode well at all. "It couldn't possibly be _what?_" she asked impatiently. 

"I'm not sure." Brian sighed and glanced up at her as he handed the scrap back. "I've never seen a spell like that before, but I think part of it has something to do with purifying or altering blood." He shook his head. "It's Dark, Rory. Or it comes from Dark spells. I'm positive." 

"Then why does Delacour want us to know what it is?" 

Brian shrugged. "Because it's part of history, I guess. Even if it is Dark. It's like knowing about the Unforgivables." He pointed at the stack of modern history books Rory had been digging through. "See if you can find it in there." 

"Don't give me orders," Rory growled, but she began flipping through _Spells, Portents and Potions in Modern Magical History_. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that someone besides Brian and Pince was watching her, and the sensation was making her jumpy. "Anyway, how do you know it's a Dark spell?" 

"Because it sounds like one. I thought it was obvious." 

"To you, maybe." Rory finished scanning the index and began to flip through the book. She doubted there was anything hidden in the extremely dull text, but it was worth a try. If truth be told, she didn't know of any Dark spells except for the three Unforgivables and she wouldn't know Dark components if they bit her. Not that she was surprised that Brian could pick out facets of different spells so easily. He was a very advanced student, bordering on genius in her admittedly biased opinion. 

Brian just made a face and stared at his own textbook for a moment. A long, thoughtful silence passed before he spoke again. "Rory?" 

"What?" 

"If that really _is_ a weird Dark spell, how does Professor Delacour know about it?" 

That hadn't even occurred to her. "Because lots of professors know about it?" 

"No, they don't. And this doesn't make sense anyway. Most of the stuff in that assignment does, but that spell..." Brian wrinkled his nose, as if he had just smelled something unpleasant. "Who else is taking this course with you? Maybe they'll recognize that spell from somewhere." 

"Ife's the only Gryffindor besides Jim and me, and I heard her complaining about how hard the assignment is just yesterday. Besides," she added firmly, "she's not a Musketeer." 

Brian rolled his eyes. "You're not talking to the only other Musketeer in that course. You don't have a lot of choices, Rory." 

He had a point. Rory drummed her fingers on one of Brian's books -- earning herself another baleful look from Pince -- and tried to puzzle her way around that particular problem. Talking to Jim would mean accepting his apology for whatever it was he thought he had done. She didn't want to do that. In her heart, Rory knew that _she_ was the one who had been unreasonable, and at that moment she missed talking to Jim so much that it hurt. She couldn't admit that she had been wrong, though. Malfoys never did that. 

"What about Peony?" Brian asked suddenly. "Is she in your class?" 

Rory blinked. Asking Peony Longbottom hadn't even occurred to her. "I guess I could do that." 

"Of course you can. She'll probably be at the Quidditch match tomorrow. You can talk to her then." 

"I suppose." Rory closed her book and returned it to the stack. Brian was going into what the other Musketeers called his research mode, which meant he wouldn't leave the library until Pince forcibly evicted him. "I'm going to go to bed," she said as she gathered her bookbag and stood up. 

When Brian nodded around a yawn, nose buried in a book, she slipped out of the library and began to make her way to Gryffindor Tower. She wasn't very tired, but Maureen would be waking everyone up far too early tomorrow and she needed some sleep before she faced the insane mass known as the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

"Rory? Rory!" 

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Claude approaching her. He looked rather rumpled, as if he had been sleeping in a chair. He was also holding out a very familiar scrap of paper. "You left this behind," he said with a sheepish grin. "Brian didn't seem to notice and I didn't want you to lose it." 

"Thank you," Rory said slowly, tucking the scrap into her pocket. "Were you in the library?" 

Claude nodded. "Getting my Charms homework done. Berkoare will skin me alive if I don't finish my essay." He grinned again, a bit more confidently this time. "Have you done any of Delacour's assignment yet? I'm having trouble figuring out some stuff and I thought...you know, maybe we could work on it together." 

"I was going to talk to Peony Longbottom," Rory said, shifting uneasily. She didn't doubt for a moment that Claude had been the one watching her in the library. The fact that he was making her so uncomfortable disturbed her. He was just another prefect, for Founders' sakes! 

Far from deterring Claude, this bit of information just seemed to make his face light up. "That's perfect! The three of us can work together. We'll get the entire thing done in no time." He dipped into that goofy bow she had seen before -- the one that might, in another time and place, have been very refined. "I'll see you at the Quidditch match tomorrow. Good night!" 

Rory stood alone in the corridor long after he had run off, trying and failing to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. 

~~

Saturday's Quidditch match -- the first of the year -- pitted Gryffindor against Slytherin. Although the teams were far too disparate for it to be a real contest, the traditional rivalry between the two Houses drew the entire school out to the stands to enjoy the show. If anything, the way the spectators were behaving was even more entertaining than the match itself. Before a single player had left the locker rooms, Professor Weasley had already hauled Lily, Tim and Annika off two hulking Slytherin fifth-years. The venomous looks Brian's mother had exchanged with Professor Snape were even better than the aborted fistfight. In the end a long-suffering Professor Sprout was forced to separate the two adults and to threaten them both with a visit to the Headmistress. 

"Mum's sure in a bad mood," Brian muttered as he and Rory found seats near the Gryffindor goals, giving Professor Weasley a wide berth. "She's been like this for weeks. Dad sent me a letter and told me and my sisters to stay out of her way." 

Rory nodded absently, glancing at Brian's little sisters, Casey and Wendy, to make sure that they weren't destroying anything. Her friend's parents owned a house in Hogsmeade, but they rarely spent any time there; Brian's father was always on the road with the Chudley Cannons, while his mother was busy with her Transfiguration classes. In the summer the entire family bounced around the country on scouting or research trips. Rory had seen Brian's parents in the same room exactly once, and had concluded that it was just as well that they were rarely in the same town, much less in the same building. They seemed to communicate by yelling at the top of their impressive lungs. 

Privately, she suspected that she knew exactly what was bothering Brian's mother -- and many of the other professors, for that matter. The conversation she had overheard in the Astronomy Tower several weeks back was still preying on her mind, but she had no desire to discuss it with either Paula Diggory or Claude. The idea that Professor Weasley had known her when she was little was completely implausible. Powerful and respected though she was, Brian's mother was Muggleborn. Rory's lip curled. Her grandparents being the bigots they were, they would never have allowed her to spend any time in Professor Weasley's presence. 

And there was the matter of the star chart... 

"Brian?" she asked, knotting her hair up into a bun to keep it out of her face. "Do you know anything about astrology?" 

"Some. Most of it's a load of rubbish." Brian had a roll of parchment and two books in his lap, apparently so he could get some work done before the match started. 

Rory waved her hand impatiently, brushing aside her friend's tendency to dismiss anything he couldn't tinker with. "If the planets are positioned so they mean the same thing as they did at the end of the Third Task, how important is that?" 

The answer was an immediate headshake. "It's not important. They're planets. They're bound to come back to the same position sooner or later. That's like saying something bad happens every time the sun sets." 

"Don't tell that to the centaurs," Peony said as she squeezed in beside Brian. Claude was a half-step behind her, looking out of place among the Gryffindors. Most of the Slytherins were sitting at the other end of the pitch, so he was the only student by the Gryffindor goals who sported a green and silver scarf. 

Brian just rolled his eyes. "The centaurs would do a waltz in the Great Hall if they thought the stars and planets were telling them to. My mum and dad don't like most of them, you know. Something about them trying to kill my mum once. Nasty people, centaurs." He stopped his rant long enough to scowl at Claude, who had decided to sit next to Rory. 

"I thought the centaurs were always right," Peony said as she leaned to one side, allowing the trio of Lily, Tim and Annika to edge past her and fill the seats just below them. "That's what they're famous for, after all." 

Lily looked over her shoulder and gave them all a despairing look. "We're getting ready to watch a Quidditch match and you're talking about _centaurs?_" 

"And planets," Peony added before folding her hands in her lap and looking back at Brian. "My dad says centaurs are very good at figuring out what's going to happen, and in all the books I've read they do seem to know what's going on." She stopped long enough to frown at Lily, Tim and Annika, who were making disparaging remarks under their breath. "Well, they do," she finished sullenly. 

Brian clutched his books in a way that made Rory lean away from him; he tended to use his prized possessions as weapons if he got frustrated with other people, and the books in his lap looked rather heavy. Fortunately he was glaring at Peony and not at her. "Don't be daft," he muttered. "The centaurs don't have a clue what's going on. They don't get stuff right half the time." 

This seemed to be news to Peony -- and to Claude, who leaned across Rory to join the conversation. "They don't? Since when?" 

Brian glared at him. "Since they said the stars told them that Jim's dad wouldn't be the one to defeat You-Know-Who." 

Claude blinked, nonplussed. "That's insane. Of course Jim's dad defeated You-Know-Who. Everyone saw the body." 

"_And_ he testified for the Wizengamot under Veritaserum," Brian added. "My mum and dad told me. See? That just proves that stars can't always be trusted." 

"Or that the centaurs are off their rockers," Claude added cheerfully. 

Peony didn't look convinced at all. "Maybe the centaurs know something we don't. Wizards don't know everything." 

"I know that they were wrong about You-Know-Who," Brian muttered, but before a full-fledged argument could start, the two Quidditch teams flew onto the pitch and the roar of the crowd drowned out any attempts at conversation. 

The Gryffindor team flashed across the pitch with practiced ease, escorting Robert Anderson to the goals and then splitting into Beaters, Seeker and Chasers. Maureen did a casual barrel roll as she soared past. She didn't seem to be riding the broom so much as towing it along with her. From the stands, it looked as if she wasn't even bothering to steer. 

"Showoff," Lily muttered as the Chasers began circling under Madam Hammond. Annika swatted her. 

Once Hammond dropped the Quaffle into the crowd, any pretense of leisurely flight vanished. Rory could barely follow the Chasers flying up and down the pitch, deftly tossing the Quaffle to each other as they zipped around Bludgers, opponents, and their own teammates. The magically amplified voice of the announcer, a Slytherin named Margaret Chittock, boomed through the stands. 

"And it's Li with the Quaffle! Harris! Pucey! Bole! Wood! Li! Wood again! Someone get the bloody Quaffle! _Get the bloody Quaffle! Knock her off her --_ " 

"CHITTOCK!" 

Rory grinned as the familiar voice of the Headmistress joined Margaret's. It was a fine Hogwarts tradition to have the most biased commentators available, and half the fun was listening to McGonagall trying not to throw a fit. The other adults looked torn between disapproval and amusement -- with the usual exception of Old Biddy, who was laughing. Tessa Macnair, the Slytherin Seeker, seemed to be shouting the same kind of invective at the Gryffindor Chasers. Unsurprisingly, Jim was just grinning. For all his impressive Quidditch lineage, he had never taken the House rivalries very seriously and played the game because he genuinely liked it. 

"40-30 Gryffin -- watch the Bludger Pucey! She dodged! Quaffle to Capper! Bole! Pucey! Ca -- _somebody get Wood!_" 

Gryffindor's supporters erupted in cheers as Maureen burst out of nowhere and snatched the Quaffle in midflight, flipping upside-down and steering with her knees as she dodged around both Slytherin Beaters. The Quaffle flew to Joseph Li, who flung it past the Slytherin Keeper and did a celebratory loop-de-loop. Rory clapped politely and attempted to avoid Lily, who had started to jump up and down and was swearing inventively at the Slytherins. 

"She's a little excited, isn't she?" Claude clapped his hands over his ears and scooted away from Lily, allowing Rory to put some distance between herself and her housemate as well. She was just in time, too. Apparently fed up with Lily's antics, Brian had pulled out his book and was attempting to thwap her with it. The ensuing scuffle almost knocked both of them into the hapless second-years sitting in front of them. 

Rory paused to cheer when Maureen did an impressive feint, then glanced back at Claude. "This is good behavior for Lily." 

"What's _bad_ behavior?" Claude asked rather incredulously. A moment later he shook his head. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know." 

"You're not scared of a fourth-year, are you?" 

Claude grinned. "Of course I am. I'm an Avery. Cowardice runs in the family." 

Rory stopped mid-cheer and frowned at him. She had heard plenty of Slytherins boast about their lineage, but this was something new. "That's nothing to be proud of." 

Her answer was a shrug. "It keeps us alive, doesn't it?" He winced as Pandora Pucey took a Bludger in the arm, seemingly more concerned with the Quidditch match than his absurd heritage. 

She couldn't let it drop so easily. "What do you mean, it keeps you alive? How can being a coward keep _anyone_ alive?" 

Claude's grin finally faded. He shifted and seemed to adjust his weight. At the same time he tilted his head to one side and leaned away from her, as if being in her presence troubled him. His expression changed ever so slightly, although she could not have said just how. The entire transformation only took a moment, but she was left facing someone who was almost the same, but not quite. This was a boy she could break if she chose to, who would obey her if she willed it, and who would never dream of crossing her or betraying her. 

Then he moved again and the illusion was gone. He was just Claude, resting his chin on his hand as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The beaten, hunched boy had vanished as if he had never existed -- which, of course, he never had. 

"You're a very good actor," Rory finally managed to say. 

Claude's smile widened. "You think so?" 

She nodded. "Yes. You were very convincing." A thought occurred to her, and she leaned closer to peer at him. "Are you acting now?" 

"I always act," he said, and flashed her a good-natured grin as he turned back to the Quidditch game. Rory frowned at him, but he didn't look back at her. 

~~

Claude's unsettling comments aside, the Quidditch game was quite enjoyable. Gryffindor walked away with a tidy victory, thanks in no small part to a last-minute dive by Jim. He clasped the Snitch tightly and beamed from ear to ear as he did a lap around the pitch with the rest of Gryffindor's team. Rory smiled as he flew by and clapped, forgetting for the moment that she was supposed to be annoyed with him. No matter how well he played, and no matter how many times he caught the Snitch, Jim always seemed surprised that people thought he had done a good job. 

"You had questions about Delacour's assignment, right?" Peony tapped her shoulder, pulling her attention back to her friends in the stands. The cheerful Hufflepuff had already gathered up her scarf and cloak and was dodging Lily, who was making rather rude faces at the Slytherins sitting at the other end of the pitch. 

Rory nodded. "That's right. Brian and I don't recognize half the terms." 

"If Brian doesn't know, I doubt I will." Despite this, Peony dug through her pockets until she produced a neatly folded piece of parchment. "I'm going to be even less help than I thought," she said as she scanned the scribbled notes that ran all around the assignment. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think Delacour made most of these up." 

"She probably did," Claude said, falling into step beside Rory. "Operation Prongs sounds like a bad _Auror Adventures_ ripoff, if you ask me." 

"No one asked you." A disgruntled-looking Brian squeezed in between Rory and Peony, giving Claude a very strange look. Rory had the distinct impression that her friend was trying to be protective, although _why_ she couldn't imagine. Claude was a Slytherin, but he didn't strike her as a terribly dangerous one. On the contrary, he seemed rather -- well, _friendly_. 

In any event, she would have to set Brian straight. Or possibly hit him repeatedly with his own books. 

Claude didn't seem fazed by the hostility. "We can start with what we do know," he said. "The Third Task is when You-Know-Who got his body back and killed Cedric Diggory, and the Siege is when Hogwarts was surrounded for a couple months before Harry Potter saved the day." 

"Or didn't save the day, as the case may be." Peony smiled at Brian, who muttered something impolite about centaurs and astrology. He took his disdain for divination rather personally. 

"That, too," Claude added amiably. Then his face lit up, as if a brilliant idea had occurred to him. "I think we should start an Operation Prongs comic." 

Brian gave him a withering look. "That's crazy," he said, only to add very conscientiously, "It would make a much better book." 

Peony's face scrunched up. "Books are boring," she said. Then her eyes went very wide and she ducked behind Claude, who took the full brunt of Brian's tomes with a pained yelp. In moments a few other Hufflepuffs had leapt to their housemate's defense, and a good-natured but very spirited scuffle had broken out. 

Rory fell back and glanced over at the pitch, where the Gryffindor team was only now making its way to the locker rooms. Her good mood vanished. She didn't believe what Brian and Peony had been speculating about, because it was ridiculous. Harry Potter had defeated You-Know-Who. Everyone knew that. At the end of May he and a few of his allies had disappeared into the Forbidden Forest while the rest of the students held off an army of Dark creatures. A few hours later it had all been over, or at least as over as it could be with Death Eaters and other Dark wizards running amok. Actually cleaning up everything had taken years, and plenty of people had died after the war had supposedly ended for good. 

None of these things changed the core fact. Harry Potter had defeated You-Know-Who at the end of his seventh year -- and, Rory realized belatedly, no one knew how he had done it. 

No one even knew _if_ he had done it. 

The sheer idiocy of that thought almost made her laugh. No one else had been powerful enough to defeat You-Know-Who, and he certainly wasn't still terrorizing England. Obviously Harry Potter had done _something_. 

Her gaze locked on Jim, laughing and dodging Maureen's good-natured tackle, and a shiver went through her. He had family secrets, just like she did. The only difference between them was that at least she knew her secrets existed. 

~~

Monday morning dawned bright and cold. Thanks to Maureen's snoring, it also dawned much earlier than Rory would have liked. She had been up far too late Sunday night trying to finish her homework, and felt she was exercising considerable restraint in only throwing one of her shoes at her fellow Musketeer. 

As it was, she walked into the Great Hall groggy and in a foul temper. It was promising to be an unpleasant day, so she felt she was absolutely justified in glaring at anyone who looked at her wrong. This included the owls delivering the morning post, and most especially the little barn owl who was unfortunate enough to drop its copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in her eggs. 

"Lovely." Cursing everything that had anything to do with owls, she picked the Prophet out of her breakfast with two fingers and gingerly turned it over in search of a name. Somehow the stupid bird had mistaken her for Fatima al-Mannai, a seventh-year Ravenclaw who looked nothing like Rory and was no doubt wondering where her newspaper had disappeared to. She would have it back sooner or later, as soon as Rory finished skimming the important articles. It never hurt to be informed, after all. 

She scanned the front page, and then scanned it again in case she had read it wrong. Then, quietly and inventively, she started to swear. 

Splashed across the top of the _Daily Prophet_was an enormous headline: POTTER FAMILY SCANDAL!!! Below that, in smaller but no less garish print, it read, INTERNATIONAL HERO IN PATERNITY SHOCKER!!! There were a number of smaller headlines somehow connected to the Chang-Potters, a picture, and a long-winded note proclaiming that the editor was stunned and dismayed. He said so several times, with multiple exclamation points and bold print. 

Rory didn't need to see who wrote the articles, but she did anyway. She was going to _kill_ that Skeeter woman. 

So were half of Gryffindor, by the sound of things. The other half were staring at Jim, Lily, and Cedric as if they had all sprouted wings. The three siblings were clustered around one newspaper, which Jim was reading from in a low, tightly controlled voice. Instinctively Rory hunted for the other two Musketeers. Maureen was on her feet, so angry that her face had turned beet-red, and Brian was slowly wadding someone's copy of the _Prophet_ into a ball. 

She looked back at Jim, who was clutching the newspaper tightly, his face pale and his mouth pressed into a bloodless line. She had never seen him this furious before, not even when the other Musketeers' antics got him in trouble. It made her stomach twist into a knot. There was something fundamentally wrong with Jim being like this. What seemed to be most important at the moment wasn't getting to the bottom of this or making that Skeeter woman pay for whatever lies she had cooked up; it was making Jim be the way he was supposed to be. 

Although she was supposed to be mad at him, she reached out and rested her hand on his arm. 

The feather-light touch seemed to jerk him back to reality. He lowered the newspaper and looked down at her, and the anger was gone. "Why do people do this to us?" he asked softly. "Dad saved everybody." He trailed off with a helpless headshake. His voice quavered a little, as if he was trying very hard not to cry. 

"They're all bastards," Maureen muttered, and hugged Jim tightly. Since her own newspaper had long since been snatched up, Rory took the opportunity to pluck Jim's copy from his grasp and get a better look at the picture on the front page. 

The boy fidgeting awkwardly on the front page was two or three years older than the Musketeers, with black hair and features who might, with a little squinting, have resembled Jim's father's. He certainly had the same lanky, long-legged build. There was an older, dark-skinned man standing next to him, looking just as unsettled as the boy. There was no resemblence between the two. The caption identified the boy as eighteen-year-old Hector Crawford and the man as his foster father, Hank. 

"This is ridiculous," Rory muttered as she skimmed the articles. They were pieces of sensationalist rubbish, covering the supposed affair between Jim's father and Brian's long-dead Aunt Ginny in what she felt was unnecessarily lurid detail. By the time she was halfway through it, she was becoming aware of the fact that her hands were shaking, and that she was too angry to read further. She wasn't sure she could come up with a punishment horrible enough for Rita Skeeter. 

She lowered the _Prophet_ and glanced at the circle of students assembled around her. Most of them were people like the Weasleys and the Chang-Potters -- people she would expect to be as upset as she was about this. To her surprise, there were a few others. Peony was peering at Darius Weasley's copy of the newspaper, and Claude was standing near the Gryffindor table, watching the proceedings with a sort of intense interest. Rory didn't bother to shoo them away. There would be time for that later. 

"I thought Mum taught that cow a lesson," Lily muttered. She had folded her arms across her chest and was glaring at the floor. Annika squeezed her shoulder and offered her a sympathetic smile. 

Jim sighed. He didn't look as angry as Lily did. "We would _know_ if we had an older brother. Dad would've told us." 

Lily's eyes were narrowed to green slits. "He wouldn't have done that to Mum." 

"Let's think about this rationally," Brian said. He elbowed Maureen out of the way and snatched the newspaper from Rory, absently hauling a quill and a bottle of ink out of his bookbag. Rory settled herself across from him and watched Maureen flank him. A piece of parchment had joined the quill and ink bottle on the table. He was already making notes and muttering as he worked. "All we need to do is collect enough information on this Hector person to prove that Skeeter woman wrong." 

"What if we can't?" Peony asked. She stopped short when everyone turned and stared at her, but then took a deep breath and plowed on. "Think about it. Rita Skeeter must have come up with something fairly believable if the _Prophet_ ran this article. My mum and dad said that the editor doesn't have the best history with her." 

"So why print this if it's easy to disprove, huh?" Lily snarled at the newspaper. "I'm going to kill that stupid cow. I'm going to..." She trailed off, apparently unable to come up with a suitable punishment. 

"_I'm_ going to owl Dad," Cedric said before his sister could get any ideas. 

Lily made a face at him. "He and Mum probably know already, but it's a good idea anyway. You should talk to your mum too, Brian." 

Brian shook his head, glancing up at the professors. His mother was sitting rigidly in her chair, clutching her newspaper and saying something to the Headmistress. Rory could understand her friend's reluctance. The idea of even speaking to Professor Weasley when she was in that mood was too terrible to contemplate. 

"Well, I'll talk to _my_ parents," Annika said. "Grandma Molly must be having fits. She doesn't like anybody saying anything bad about Aunt Ginny." 

"I think I'd rather face Mum than Grandma," Brian muttered. Then he looked up from his scribbled notes and glanced around the Great Hall. "Where did Jim go?" 

Belatedly Rory tore her attention away from the growing crowd and hunted for Jim. He was nowhere to be found, of course. He must have slipped off when they were paying attention to Brian. 

"I'll get him," she said quickly as she slipped over the bench. "Don't wait for us if we're late." When Brian and Maureen nodded, she snatched up her bag and hurried out of the Great Hall, trying to guess where Jim would have run off to. Trust him to disappear at a time like this. It wasn't as if anyone believed that ridiculous story. 

Well, no one important, anyway. No one who mattered. 

She certainly didn't. 

Jim wasn't terribly imaginative. Rory found him in one of the squashy armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room, staring at his Charms textbook in a way that suggested he wasn't really reading it. Without bothering to announce her presence, she marched over and snatched it right out from under his nose. 

"Hey!" he protested, and then stopped when he saw who it was. His hand dropped and he sank back in the chair. "You didn't have to chase after me." 

"Of course I did. I know you. You always run off by yourself to be an idiot." Rory tossed the Charms textbook onto a sofa and stood in front of Jim with her arms crossed, scowling down at him. "I need to talk to you." 

"I kind of figured you would." He peered at the floor for a moment, worrying his lower lip as he always did when he was collecting his thoughts. "About what happened in Delacour's class -- " 

"What _about_ that? Do you have any sense of priorities at all? This is about that article!" 

Jim looked up at her. "I really don't want to talk about that." 

"I don't care what you want to talk about! Wanting isn't important here!" 

"It was important for you." 

That stopped her mid-rant. She stared at him, newest argument dying half-formed, and then looked away quickly. There was absolutely no way to refute that. 

"I'm not a hypocrite," she said softly. 

"I know." He meant it, because he was Jim and he couldn't lie or dissemble to save his life. "I just don't want to talk about it, Rory. Please?" 

She stared at the fireplace, and then sighed and nodded. As she did, a great weight seemed to lift off her shoulders, and she found that she could look up at him again without feeling something twist inside her. It was as if they were back on equal footing, or maybe as if they hadn't fought at all. 

"I missed talking to you," he said suddenly. 

_So did I_, she thought. It remained unsaid, but she did allow herself a smile. "You're going to regret letting me talk to you. I'm going to get to the bottom of all this." Jim tilted his head to one side, all innocent concern. "I thought you were trying to find out about your mum and dad." 

"They're dead. You're not. You're more important." She snatched his Charms textbook off the sofa and thrust it at him, feeling uncharacteristically flustered. It had become almost normal for her to act like this around Claude, but Jim should have been different. 

He took the textbook without a word and tucked it into his bookbag. "Rory?" 

She was already halfway to the portrait hole, but turned anyway. "What now?" 

"Thanks," he said, and smiled at her. 

Rory stared at him, hunted for something dismissive -- but all she managed was a quiet, "You're welcome." Then she rallied. "Would you move faster? We're going to be late and I am _not_ going through another detention because some people drag their feet! And stop laughing!" 

Jim didn't, of course. But that was the way it was supposed to be, and she didn't complain. 


End file.
